


ABOVE

by Skadiyoko



Category: Hetalia: Axis Powers
Genre: Graffiti, Hetalia, M/M, Romance, Skadiyoko, Slice of Life
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2012-06-09
Updated: 2012-06-25
Packaged: 2017-11-07 08:20:13
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 22,603
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/428892
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Skadiyoko/pseuds/Skadiyoko
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Arthur meets a tempremental boy one night while working on his mural, and suddenly his world is filled with the colors he has been splashing all over the city. Even if the little git is yelling at him until his face turns purple.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Not So Silent Meetings

**Author's Note:**

> "..to represent the power and energy that you're capable of unlocking within yourself."
> 
> -Above
> 
> Why hello once again, my bunnies! Welcome to my not-so-little EngRoma twoshot. This couple needs so much more love. So here we are, and here we be, so sit back and read instantaneously!
> 
> I'm an awesome rhymer. Be jelly.
> 
> Helpful terms:
> 
> writer- a graffiti artist
> 
> throw-up- a quick signature
> 
> tag- a more stylized signature
> 
> wildstyle- interlocking letters, sometimes with designs or small pictures connected to them
> 
> Krylon- spray paint most writers use
> 
> pilot marker- a very thick marker that can be refilled
> 
> Alright, ONWARDS TO ADVENTURE! *superhero pose*

Cans quietly clinked together in his worn messenger bag as he jogged to his in-progress piece located in the inner city. Frigid November air attempted too seep it's way through his much too baggy clothing, unable to chill the man for his body heat was risen from the labor of lugging his tools block after block. Finally he stopped in front of a wall, relieved it hadn't been tampered with since the day before; he would have been furious.

Not that any other writer would fuck with his work anymore. He's gained too much respect for that kind of treatment.

Normally the man was called Arthur Kirkland. Twenty-one years of age, choppy blonde locks, vivid green eyes, dark(er than he'd prefer) eyebrows, and employed at a small bookshop. He was held back in his eleventh year of school for a lack of completed, or even attempted, work. He'd graduated a year after his original class. Arthur wasn't an unintelligent boy by any means, but had unfortunately fallen in the wrong ring of friends once he started high school

Then Alfred, his idiot of a cousin, had organized an intervention. After a flurry of extremely emotional conversations, meetings, and counseling sessions, Arthur had begun his rehabilitation. Months had passed before he was finally ready to go out on his own without having to fear a sudden unexpected need to relapse. 

Since then he's tried to become closer to his family. Alfred and Matthew have been especially close, and for that he was extremely grateful. It was much easier to talk with them than his parents and brothers. Also, unlike his parents and brothers, they know of his second identity: Spade.

Yes, the Spade. The man who has taken over the city's graffiti world in only a few months. Whose pieces end up all over the news without fail. Sooner or later the media will get bored with him, he knows, but he doesn't care. This new... hobby of his wasn't a way to get attention. It was a way to vent. A way to express himself and his views, because even though he has a seemingly infinite vocabulary, Arthur can't easily put these feelings into words. Sure it may be less than legal, but (although he still complains) even Matthew admits it's better than the shit he used to do.

It was a hell of a lot more fun, too.

So here he was, ten 'till four in the morning, setting down his bag of spray paint and allowing himself a couple of minutes to catch his breath. Reaching into one of his oversized pockets, the Englishman grabbed a cheap medical mask and slipped it around his neck before pulling on a pair of latex gloves. Arthur then pulled the hood of his hoodie over his head and secured the mask over his mouth and nose. Glancing at his mural, he decided to resume with a sky blue, and pulled out the appropriate can. 

Arthur liked this piece. It was of a pirate ship, and the outline and some fill-in were done. The bow was a mouth, wide open and swallowing a variety of both mythical and ordinary sea creatures. Some being caught on the ship's "teeth" made from splintered planks. On the ship's sides were big, idiotic eyes. Waves crashed throughout the scene. A lone woman stood at the helm, grinning in a tattered dress with her hair whipping wildly. The image came to Arthur when he was reading a book on pirates, and how women were believed to bring bad luck aboard a ship. 

Arthur sprayed the blue not on the sky or waves, but on the ship itself. This was his style. Working with the most vivid colors, and using them on objects that would never be such a color. The water would be pink, and the sea life would be bleeding yellows and greens and purples. Because of this, his pieces never failed to pop out and demand attention from passers by.

After finishing the base of the entire picture, the man decided to take a quick smoke break before working on the details. Grabbing his cigarettes and lighter from one of his many pockets, he lit up and took a long drag. Footsteps soon disturbed Arthur's silence (he didn't feel like bringing his iPod - Alfred and Matthew's birthday gift to him), so he immediately pivoted around and shrunk into the shadows. 

Instead of the cop he feared it to be, passing by was a boy who looked younger than him. His clothes were obviously designer, and his hair was a deep chestnut. Arthur could hear the brunette grumbling to himself, which only grew louder as he noticed the graffiti.

Amused by the angry boy, the blonde let out a soft chuckle. Immediately the other froze, then shot his head towards the quiet sound that wouldn't have been audible if it weren't four in the morning. Terror etched itself across his tan face, and Arthur let himself feel a little guilty for scaring the poor boy so much.

"Oh calm down," said the Brit, walking over and standing under the nearby street light. "I'm not going to chop you up and store you in my freezer." Emerald eyes rolled and a smirk played across his cigarette.

Once the boy realized his life was no longer in danger, his face slowly contracted into one of rage. "Vaffanculo!" Arthur raised an eyebrow at the foreign language. "What the fuck do you think you're doing, bastard?! Who just sits around in shady fucking places waiting to scare the shit out of someone?!" The smirk grew with each word, and the identified Italian stomped under the lamp post as well. Now a red tint could be seen shining in the brunette hair, and his eyes were like liquid amber. Loud cursing continued for a few more minutes. Arthur mostly tuned it out, instead focusing on the passionate expressions dashing across the boy's face until he felt a jab to his chest and tuned back in to the other. "Well, are you going to fucking answer me? What the fuck are you doing creeping around in the dark, bastard?"

"I don't see how it's any of your business, brat," replied the blonde. "Besides, I could ask you the same question."

At this, the other bristled. "I was at Church, retard!"

Arthur blinked. "Wow. I'm surprised you weren't thrown out with such a mouth and attitude. I mean, I've been here for about an hour, working, and you start screaming your lungs out because I was taking a rest." He tsked. "Not very kind or Holy or whatever if you ask me."

Watching the boy was like watching a bird deflate, as he tucked away his wings and chest after trying to scare a predator from it's nest. "Oh," he said dumbly. "So... what's your job then?"

"I work at a book shop."

There was a pause. "You said you were working!"

"I am."

"On what?! There aren't any book stores I know around here!" the Italian shouted, incredulous.

"That," smirked Arthur, pointing to the colorful wall behind him.

Amber eyes followed his finger and widened. "Wait a goddamned minute! You're Spade?!" 

"How did you guess?" he snickered rhetorically.

"You...You..." the boy's face was beginning to turn red again, "You fucking bastard!"

An impressive eyebrow raised. "Again with the mouth."

"I don't give a shit! You!" Here he pointed a finger at the man, almost jabbing his nose. "I fucking hate you!"

"Really?" drawled the blonde. Then he sighed. "Look, I don’t remember meeting you, but I apologize for anything I said or did to you in the past. I wasn't myself."

Looking taken aback, the Italian muttered a much confused, "What?"

"Oh," Arthur flushed, "You're not talking about- Ah, nevermind. Why do you hate me, now?"

Remembering he was in the middle of a rant, the younger puffed himself up again. "I hate you because of that!" He pointed to the mural.

Taking the spent cigarette from his mouth, the Englishman crushed it under his heel. "It's not finished yet."

"That's not what I mean, you stupid bastard!"

"Then what do you mean, small Italian with a large mouth?"

"I'm not short, asshole!" exploded the brunette. "And I'm talking about how you ruin this damn city with your fucking... fucking vandalism! And you think it's art?! Do you even know what art is, idiot?!" 

"Art," Arthur started, scrunching his nose in thought, "the expression or application of human creative skills and imagination, typically in a visual form such as painting or sculpture, producing works to be appreciated primarily for their beauty or emotional power." At the younger's dumbfounded expression, he snickered.

"S-so what!" he stuttered, "You're a fucking dictionary?! Bug fucking deal! Then I'm sure you know the meaning of vandalism!"

"Vandalism," Arthur's smirk still not leaving his face, "the crime of destroying or damaging something, especially public property, deliberately and for no good reason."

"Fucking smartass bastard," grumbled the boy. "Well," he said louder, "you've proved my point then, idiot."

Putting a finger to his lip, Arthur grinned. "I don’t remember disagreeing with you."

Cheeks pinking and puffing with anger, he shouted, "You're a fucking asshole, you stupid tea bastard!"

"That's really stereotypical of you, poppet," laughed the man.

"Whatever, you're still not an artist."

"Then you can call me a writer."

"...What?" the Italian asked, emotions twisting at the confusing man he'd met.

"A person who has written something, or writes in a particular way. You couldn't argue with that, since I tag every piece I make." Arthur chuckled.

The brunette stared at him like he was an idiot (which, to be fair, seemed to be his default expression). "You know what? I'm over this," he growled. "You're a fucking retarded, idiot bastard, and I need to be somewhere." He turned, and Arthur saw a strange curl hidden within the right side of his chestnut locks. "I don’t want to catch your stupid anyway," he called as a goodbye.

Intrigued and amused at the person he'd just met, Arthur stood there for a few moments to collect himself. A feisty young Italian whose bark was worse than his bite. Interesting.

Replacing his mask, he turned and picked up a can of violet. As he began to outline and define the ship's individual planks, an idea began to brew in his head.

Four hours later he finally finished the piece with his tag, SPADE, with the 'A' in the shape of a spade, colored with a mixture of blues and purples (like always), and formed as clouds in the sky. Good timing too, because the sun was rising and and soon people would be flooding the streets. 

Packing up his cans and accessories, Arthur took one last look at his product. Standing up, he saluted the Flying Mint Bunny themed Jolly Rodger and began his trek home.

In his opinion, the stray hair curl spouting out of the ship made it a masterpiece.

 

.:.:.:.:.

Almost three weeks have passed since his encounter with the Italian. Still, his interest never left. Browns and tans and golds clouded his thoughts whenever he had nothing else to think about. Arthur had stopped trying to make them disperse, finding it impossible after his mind had wandered back to the earthy colors... again. It wasn’t so bad, in all honesty. The colors were warm and calming, which was surprisingly welcome instead of the bright and loud tones he splashed on his walls.

Tonight he did have something else on his mind. The writer was on his way to a shadier part of the city. Larz, his old friend and former dealer, had asked him to paint something for him. Now, if Larz was only his past dealer, he would never be doing this. They had known each other since the seventh grade, when Arthur had moved from his home in England to the United States. They had become quite close through their two a.m. bonding sessions in either their own, or some stranger’s smoke-filled basement.

The first time Arthur saw Larz after his rehab, he was surprised. He had expressed worry for Arthur. Worry that turned to relief. “Good for you, Artie!” he exclaimed, hugging his old friend, “I hope now that you’re clean, you won’t throw me to the curb or somethin’.” Arthur assured the other that he wouldn’t dream of it. 

Shaking his head from his thoughts, the blonde rose his eyes and noticed he was almost at his destination. There was Larz, waiting under the murky yellow of a corner light up ahead.

Tall was the first word to come to mind at first glance. Arthur only came to his chin, and always kept some distance between them so the height difference wasn’t so noticeable. Next you would notice his hair, which was a normal shade of light brown, but gelled so much the blonde doubted it would move in a typhoon. His eyes were the same grey-blue as the ocean on an overcast day. There was a scar on his forehead that absolutely no one could recall as to how he obtained it. A well-loved, blue and white striped scarf draped around his neck, and he gave Arthur a friendly smirk as he leaned against his bicycle. 

“Hey Artie,” greeted the Dutchman. Walking to the writer, he pulled him into a bone-crushing hug. A tiny part wanting to embrace his friend, but the other, much larger part doing it because it would piss the shorter man off.

Gasping, Arthur choked, “Damnit! Get the fuck off of me you fucking Neanderthal!” Needless to say, he did not like his space being invaded so suddenly. Being held a few inches off of the ground was also greatly disliked. 

Deep, crackling laughter echoed in the silent night. Though it was only nearing ten, the general public tended to avoid this area; especially in the dark. It was unsafe, and if Arthur didn’t know these alleys like the back of his hand, he would probably feel uneasy as well. 

Once sat down, the Englishman took a big step back from his companion while glaring and composing himself from the attack to his dignity. “So, how have you been?” asked Larz a couple of minutes later, seeming genuinely interested in the well-being of his friend. 

“Alright,” grumbled Arthur, still ruffled, “Yourself?”

“Can’t complain.”

“How’s Bella?”

At this, the taller man rolled his eyes. “Oh, you know, the same nagging bitch she’s always been.”

“You love her,” the blonde chuckled. There was no response. “So, where am I doing this?”

Sauntering over to the building bathed in artificial light, the Dutchman slapped a hand on the wall. “Right here.”

Humming, Arthur inspected the place. “What is this building?”

“It used to be a grooming parlour for animals, but it’s been abandoned for years now.”

Running a hand over the cold surface, the writer nodded. “Okay. What do you want?” He turned his luminescent eyes to Larz, looking intimidating. “I swear, if you say a little girl I’ll rip your balls off and shove them up your arse.”

Big hands were held up in a sign of surrender. “Geez, tell a guy one little thing and he holds it over your head.” Arthur snorted. “I was going to ask for some forest animals, actually.”

A large eyebrow raised. “Forest animals? Like, woodland creatures?”

“Yeah!” Larz grinned. “Like, rabbits and deer and moles and shit!”

Shaking his head, the Brit got out the necessary items to prepare for the piece. He pulled on a new pair of gloves, switched the cap on his orange, and began the outline of the deer. Larz swung a long leg over his bike and took a seat. It was uncomfortable, but the ground was cold and he really didn’t want to deal with a freezing ass right now. At the moment, he was content to sit and watch the master at work.

Once the outlines and base colors were complete, Arthur jerked his mask down and shook a cigarette from his half-empty carton. Throwing his previous thoughts to the wind, Larz decided to move to sit on the ground next to his friend. They both lit up and cuddled against each other for warmth. For a while, there was an amiable lull in conversation.

Then the larger man decided to break it. “So, what’s new in the life of Arthur Kirkland?”

Rolling his eyes at Larz’s interview voice, he replied, “Not much. Working. Christmas shopping. Sleeping. Designing. Repeat. I’m planning on going poster posting soon.”

“Flying Mint Bunny getting into the Holiday spirit?” the Dutchman queried, amused.

“Maybe a little bit..”

“Hmm. Nothing else?”

Images of browns and curls suddenly assaulted him. “Well, I did have an interesting encounter a few weeks ago.”

“Oh?” The other perked up. “Do tell.”

Leaning on his friend, Arthur took a drag of his cig as his head rested on a soft shoulder. “Back when I was working on the pirate ship-”

“That thing is fucking awesome.”

“Thanks,” the blonde said dryly, not appreciating the interruption.

“Kiku took some great pictures of that thing.”

Arthur smiled at the mention of their Japanese friend, and nodded in agreement. A short moment passed. “As I was saying,” Larz smiled at the Look Arthur gave him, “when I was breaking, this boy walked past my wall. I accidentally scared him shitless, but once he knew I wouldn’t hurt him he turned into a little bastard.”

“Really?” A nod. “Wait, you usually paint early as shit. What the hell was some kid doing out so early?”

“He said he was just at Church.. Yeah, I know, I thought only old people went to the four o’clock service too, but had been proven wrong,” he added as he got a disbelieving look. “By the way he was cursing me out, I was surprised he was allowed in the building.”

Snorting, the other inquired, “Why was he going off on you?”

“Because I exist,” deadpanned Arthur. Sighing, he continued, “He doesn't like what I do, and holy fuck was he vocal about it. No wonder they say Italians are loud.” Paying no attention to the man against him, he began to grumble, rolling his irises to the Heavens.

Recognition sparked in Larz’s eyes. “Wait, Italian?” Arthur nodded, intrigued. “Kind of short, brown hair, weird little curl, would probably yell at a puppy for being too cute?” More nods, and the blonde was about to ask about how he knew the boy, but the other wasn’t done. “Yeah! I know him! He’s that damn Antonio’s cousin or some shit! He and his twin moved in with the bastard a couple of years ago after their grandpa died. I think they go to that Catholic school the idiot Spaniard went to. St. Maria’s or whatever.”

“Really?” breathed Arthur, eyes wide with wonder and mirth at learning so much about the boy who has been filling his thoughts. It was also strange that the Italian was related, and now living with, his ex. “Do you know his name?”

“Nah,” Larz didn’t see the put out expression on the Brit’s face. “He usually comes with stupid Antonio to pick up Bella when they all go out. That’s as much as I see him. Bell says he has some sort of tomato addiction, though.”

Scraping his cigarette on the rough concrete, Arthur stood and stretched while turning to his mural. “Interesting.” A plan was swirling in his head. The rest of the night was spent with nothing but the sounds of cans clinking, spraying, and friendly chatter filling the air.

Quarter past three read the writer’s watch. He had just finished his tag and took a step back to scrutinize his work. The orange deer was the biggest animal, a light tangerine making it’s underbelly and antlers. Lounging in one of the antlers was a pink squirrel. A yellow mole popped it’s torso from a hole, the soil colored grey and black. Blue rabbits snuggled against the hooves as red mice scurried around in a game of tag (or something, Arthur wasn’t really sure what they were doing). Behind blue and purple bushes (Arthur’s tag) was Flying Mint Bunny. He was peeking at the colorful scene with interest.

Happy with his work, Arthur turned to his friend. “I’d say it’s done. You like?” Since he worked the evening shift at the shop, he hadn’t been able to rest all day, and the weariness that coated his being was expected.

Beaming, the Dutchman hugged Arthur once more, picking him up and spinning this time.”Are you kidding? It’s fucking fabulous! And really, who else can brag that they got Spade himself to make a mural for them?” If Larz wasn’t right there, the Englishman would have most definitely fallen over from dizziness. An almost inaudible “Wanker” followed. “Hey, you want a lift back to your place?”

Green eyes answered with something along the lines of, “Oh my God yes please I don’t think I can make it on my own right now.” Arthur’s bag was then packed and the duo mounted the bike. Standing on the rear pegs, the blonde wrapped his arms around strong shoulders and buried his face into a clean smelling neck. They reached his apartment with no trouble. Once Arthur hopped off the bike, he turned to thank Larz, who responded with an “Anytime,” and kiss on the cheek before he paddled off. 

Turning to walk into his building, Arthur shook his head with a small smile on his lips.

 

.:.:.:.:.  
His plan was supposed to go into action two days ago. Unfortunately, he hadn’t counted on Alfred stupidly inserting himself in the Hell that was Black Friday. Which was three days ago. To simplify the American’s obscenely long story, he tripped and got his wrist trampled on in the chaos. That day Arthur had planned on staying in and losing himself in Alice’s Adventures in Wonderland, because he was not feeling very chipper, and wanted to be as far away from reality as possible. 

Curse Alfred for ever being born.

Laying on his sofa, the man was reciting the Duchess’ lullaby, or what he liked to call, “A Guide to Horrible Parenting.” 

“Speak roughly to your little boy,  
And beat him when he sneezes,  
He only does it to annoy,  
Because he knows it teases.

I speak severely to my boy,  
I beat him when he sneezes,  
for he can thoroughly enjoy,  
The pepper when he pleases.”

A loud ring echoed throughout the apartment just as the baby’s grotesque transformation into a pig had begun. Sighing, the blonde bookmarked his page and grabbed his phone from the coffee table. It was Matthew, causing him to sigh again because it was impossible to be annoyed at his youngest cousin. Trust him.

“Hello?”

“Arthur?” the frantic tone of the other made him immediately sit up.

“Matt? What’s wrong? What’s all of that noise?” he asked, because there truly was an ample amount of noise and static.

“Al’s hurt.” Arthur’s heart sank as his mind filled with scenario after scenario, each getting worse and worse. “I think his wrist is broken or something. He wanted to go shopping today, and he fell a little bit ago and got stepped on. Can you pick us up and take him to the hospital?” the other requested. In the background Arthur could hear a distinctly loud voice repeatedly whine “I’m going to die!”

After sighing once again, Arthur asked for their location and said a polite goodbye before hanging up. Stuffing himself into his boots and winter coat, he jogged out of his building and to the beat-up car while thinking of a lecture that would make Alfred think twice (maybe even thrice) about doing shit without thinking first. 

And it was quite the speech, for once they reached the hospital Alfred practically sprinted into the large building, leaving his phobia in the car along with a smirking Arthur and laughing Matthew.

All of the next day the man took it upon himself to nurse his cousin. It was both an apology for the awful rant, and his motherly instincts (which he would not admit to having, ever) kicking into gear.

Now it was the 28th of November, and he was standing in front of a totaled car that nobody has bothered to move since the surrounding area was already something like a junkyard. In actuality it used to be a baseball field, but as the neighborhood turned to shit, children had stopped playing there. Which was good since it was disgusting. There were bugs skittering on the ground, looking for shelter from the cold winter or something rotten to eat. An indescribable stench filled the air, and Arthur was 97% positive something illegal was transgressing about thirty meters away. 

Ignoring the shady characters, the Englishman busied himself with his usual preparations. That night he was doing something different. The piece was going to be a wildstyle, but instead of his name it was going to read “Romano”. Oh, he simply couldn’t wait. Imagining that feisty Italian’s reaction has been Arthur’s whole motivation driving him to carry this out. 

Picking out a light brown, the blonde began the letters. It was an unusual feeling for Arthur. Such subdued colors were foreign to his fingers and eyes. This would be the whole wildstyle: subtle and quiet. A mixture of red-browns, and umber-browns, and golden-browns littered his bag. He connected any stereotypically Italian items he could think of to and around the name. Pasta slithered down the ‘A’ and a pizza made an ‘O’. Many, many tomatoes sat and stacked and splattered against the letters. There was a moment where the man pondered why food was the only thing he could associate with Italians, but soon chalked it up to them being a carefree and gluttonous people, and painted a bottle of wine with a grape vine curling around the base in front of the ‘N’. 

It was pretty, he decided. Even though it’s canvas was the side of a dirty automobile (a Lancia, to which Arthur cracked a grin), the wildstyle was beautiful. With the caramel lettering and coffee outlines, it looked rich. The foods blended well with the color scheme, and Flying Mint Bunny was perching on the last ‘O’ in Gondola dress. An exaggerated curl sprouted from the ‘R’, passing the side of the car and ending on the hood some. Only a small throw-up had signed his work this time; he didn’t want to take any attention away from the main attraction. 

While packing up Arthur noticed the shady men eyeing him with unabashed interest. Arthur swung his bag over his shoulder and twiddled his fingers at them. Checking his watch as he turned away, he had discovered it had taken about forty minutes to finish. Not too shabby, in his opinion. A small diner he liked was only a few blocks away, and he decided a nice dinner was on order.

Not once did he look back. That part of his life was over.

 

.:.:.:.:.

Yesterday Arthur had been working on posters. Almost all of the ink in his pilot marker had been used, but the sheer size of the stacks of paper made it all worthwhile. Christmas was in two weeks, and even though he couldn’t show his excitement on the outside, the season’s spirit swirled inside of him. 

Inside of his messenger bag was a large binder. He used it to line the bag so his posters would not get crumpled as he traveled around hanging them. Once all of the posters had been stuffed away (all Flying Mint Bunnies in festive gear representing all of the December holidays), the green-eyed man stepped into his boots, buttoned up his heavy coat, and wrapped a scarf around his neck. It was freezing, and he was going to be out in this weather all day. Joy.

Pulling on his gloves, Arthur made a beeline for Larz’s bike. He had asked to borrow it for the day, and even though his friend was planning to go around with Matthias, he’d agreed to lend it to him. Larz then added that he would just share with Matthias, and Arthur made sure to text Lucas and demand he take a picture. Two obnoxiously tall men riding a single bicycle was something you had to see at least once in your lifetime. Mounting the bike, the blonde reached in his pocket to extract a pair of large sunglasses while pulling up his hood with the other. Both protected him from the frigid wind, and his identity from being reveled. He would be riding around in broad daylight after all.

A couple of blocks further, he braked at a telephone pole. In the front pouch of his bag sat a cluster of nails, and a small hammer. Pulling out a nail and the tool, he grabbed the front poster from his binder and quickly nailed it up. Not even a minute passed and Arthur was gone before any of the early morning pedestrians knew what happened. Hours passed in the same rhythm, but then something interesting happened.

Another poster had just been nailed to a tree in an apartment complex when a very loud, very distinct “Bastard!” rang through the air. There was no time for Arthur to pedal off, because in only seconds he was face to face with a steaming Italian. It was unbelievable. Over a month had passed since their last encounter, and even though the Brit had been dreaming of their next meeting, he hadn’t been expecting for it to actually occur. 

Suddenly his head was bopped, and Arthur realized Romano (he was glad he had an actual name to call the boy by now) had been yelling at him and causing a scene the whole time. Which, honestly, wasn’t very surprising. Behind his glasses he took a quick scan of their surroundings, and affirmed his suspicion of nosy people halting to stare at them. Luckily none of them approached. 

Planting his feet on the ground and leaning against his handlebars, Arthur grinned at his company. “I’m sorry, I’m afraid I was lost in thought. Can you repeat that?”

Romano began sputtering, and the blonde could barely withhold his laughter. His grin had gotten bigger, though, causing the other to growl. Arthur mentally compared him to a cat that had just got it’s tail stepped on. “Who the fuck do you think you are?!” he shouted, face red and nostrils flaring.

“Well, people call me Spade, but since you’re so fond of calling me a bastard, I guess I’ll answer to that too.” Answering rhetorical questions was something Arthur liked to do. For the lulz, as Alfred would say.

As expected, the brunette got even angrier. A bulging vein in his neck had captivated Arthur with an odd sort of interest. He’d only wanted to tease the boy, not give him a tumor. “Bastard,” was all he snarled.

Rolling his eyes, the Englishman shifted a little. He’d been sitting on this damn bike all day. “Hey, calm down git. You seriously look like you’re about to faint.”

“Tsk. What do you care?” grumbled Romano. Still, he took a few deep breaths. His shoulders were visibly relaxing.

“Good. Now would you like to calmly explain what’s got you so brassed off?”

A short growl sounded, but stopped as Romano reached into his pocket and pulled out his phone. While he was scrolling through it, the blonde took time to properly take in his appearance. He wore a while button-down tucked into a pair of khakis. A stylish coat and scarf were wrapped around him, and brown loafers shifted on the sidewalk. He must have just gotten out of school. As the other shifted, Arthur caught sight of a belt buckle designed as the Italian flag.

“What is this?” the brunette seethed, shoving the screen into Arthur’s face. 

Leaning back and lifting his glasses, he responded, “Oh. I did that a couple of weeks ago. Why?” False innocence radiated from the writer, and he knew Romano could see the amusement in his eyes.

“What the fuck is Romano?!”

“I thought it would be obvious,” he answered, innocence shattering as he couldn’t hold his grin in any longer. “Why, you’re Romano, little Italian.”

If the the other were more brave, Arthur would have been tense and ready for an attempted punch to the face. Fortunately he knew Romano had as much fight as a baby panda, but the mouth of a thousand seagulls to make up for it. Therefore, he sat back and counted down to the inevitable explosion.

“BASTARD!” 

There it was.

“What the fuck?! I mean what! The! Fuck! You racist bastard! Where do you get off?! And why?! You fucking tea-drinking, big eyebrowed, che va in culo a sua madre!” By now Romano was panting heavily. 

“Really?” drawled the unfazed Englishman, “What exactly makes me racist?”

Throwing his arms to the sky, the other cried, “All of those fucking symbols, asshole! Just because I’m Italian you use pasta and pizza and shit?! What the fuck?!”

Arthur tilted his head to the side. “Tell me, Romano-”

“And that! Why are you calling me that?!”

“Because I did some research, git, and it fit. Now answer me. Do you like pasta?”

Looking shocked at the question, the Italian eventually answered with a quiet, “Yes.”

Do you like pizza?”

“...Yes.”

“Do you like wine?”

“...Yes...”

“Do you like tomatoes?”

“Goddamnit yes!”

“Then if you like all of these things, how am I in the wrong?” asked the blonde with a raised eyebrow.

“Because..” murmured Romano, looking momentarily unsure, “because you didn’t know that about me before, jackass!”

“True,” hummed Arthur, “but that doesn't make it racist. I was simply playing with stereotypes. Like what you did by assuming I automatically like tea because I’m English.” He was smiling more gently now. When his company wasn’t screeching at him, he could be enjoyable to be around. Romano wasn’t too bad to look at, either.

“W-well..” he stuttered, frowning, “do you like tea?” Curiosity sparked in his eyes.

The writer grinned. “I love it.”

“And... do you like scones and crumpets and stuff?”

“I do.”

“And the rain?”

“Mmhmm. It reminds me of home.”

There was a moment of quietness. The pedestrians who had been watching the entire time were now confused, and some continued walking to their destination now that things seemed to quiet down. Green met brown, and both boys seemed to feel some sort of electrical shock.

“Fratello!” The moment had been successfully shattered.

Quickly, Arthur replaced his sunglasses. He turned only to see something that could be described as a giant, blinding smile running towards the duo. This other person looked almost exactly like Romano, only... brighter. Auburn colored his hair instead of chestnut, hazel glistened in his eyes instead of deep amber, his skin was a soft tan instead of the warm coffee-and-cream Arthur was used to. Even his personality was brighter; cheerful instead of gloomy. They were exactly the same, but completely different. A similar, much closer pair of twins popped into the blonde’s head, and he smiled.

The giddy boy never stopped, and practically tackled his darker twin when he was close enough. “Fratello! Where did you go? You started running out of nowhere and I couldn’t keep up! I never knew you were so fast! Oh! But then I bumped into Luddy and were talking and stuff, but then I remembered that I was following you and you disappeared and it took forever to find you! Oh, and I bumped into Toni too! He was helping, but then I found you!” Even though the Brit was used to Alfred’s mile-a-minute speech, he could barely keep up with this one. Though Romano didn’t have any trouble with it, and tried to shove his brother off of him while curses and “stupid potato bastard” ran from his mouth like water from a faucet. 

Then the name Toni registered in his brain, and Arthur whipped his head to the direction the hyper Italian came from. Lo and behold, Antonio was leisurely walking towards them. A large blonde he recognized as Gilbert’s younger brother was accompanying him. After a moment Antonio realised who he was, and was about to call out with a big smile when Arthur shot a finger to his lips, gesturing for him to be quiet. Antonio rightfully appeared confused, but did as he was asked. Ludwig also looked bemused, but decided not to comment. 

“Damnit Feliciano! Get off of me!” yelled Romano, shifting the blonde’s attention. 

“Aww! But Lo-” a hand was slapped, maybe a little too hard, across Feliciano’s mouth. A leer was sent to Arthur.

Finally the more energetic of the two saw they were not alone. “Oh! Are you a friend of my big brother? Ciao!” he greeted. Soon his lips twitched downwards as he scrutinized the somewhat intimidating figure perched on the bicycle. It wasn’t the best first impression, since the Brit was wearing dark colors with his hood up and tinted glasses covering his eyes. 

“We know each other. Just call me Spade, yeah?” Arthur responded, holding his hand out.

Instantaneously Feliciano’s eyes lit up like Christmas had come early. “Ve! You mean the guy whose beautiful paintings are all over the news?! No way!” he gushed, taking the writer’s hand in both of his and shaking with vigor. “I can’t believe I’m meeting you! I love your work! It’s so colorful and pretty!” Suddenly he gasped, still shaking Arthur’s hand. “You have to meet Ludwig! Luddy! Look! It’s Spade, ve! Isn’t this amazing?!” Arthur’s hand was still in an unexpected iron grip. Ludwig and Antonio reached the trio, and the blue eyed blonde released Arthur from the spastic handshake. Close up the German’s eyes glowed with realization, but he kept silent as he recalled the earlier exchange.

Tuning Romano back in, he shook his head clear. The other was ranting about how Arthur was not amazing, but a criminal. Only, it sounded more subdued than before. “I mean, look at this!” He ripped down the poster Arthur had nailed up earlier. “What the fuck is this even supposed to be?”

“It’s Flying Mint Bunny, ve!” Feliciano squealed. “He’s so cute! I love his hat,“ cooed the younger Italian.

“You can have it if you want,” chimed the writer. It was impossible to hold back his smile as Feliciano shouted a disbelieving “Really?!” and snatched the paper from his twin, twirling around happily. 

“No fucking way!” shouted Romano. The paper was snatched back. Then he crumpled it into a ball. It seemed like a crime when you saw how that action effected the auburn. Feliciano’s happiness had been crushed, and now his eyes were teary and staring at the ruined poster clutched in his brother’s fist.

“That was not nice!” scolded Antonio, stomping over to his ill-tempered charge with an uncharacteristic frown. “You apologize right now, young man!”

Visibly shrinking at the scolding, Romano turned to his brother who was huddled against Ludwig and doing his very best not to cry. Glowering at the German, he said, “I’m sorry, Feli.” Turning to Arthur, he growled, “But I’m not sorry to you, bastard.”

“Lo-!” A glove covered hand grasped the Spaniard’s arm. 

“It’s okay. I’m not offended.” Antonio gazed at the blonde, a thoughtful frown in his eyes. He knew first hand what Arthur had gone through, and knows how much this art means to him. No matter what, he will always care deeply for the blonde. Past the large eyeglasses he could make out a secret smile, and relaxed. “Feliciano,” called the Englishman. 

Sniffling, the auburn boy looked up. Arthur motioned for him to come over. With some hesitation and a glance to his twin, he approached the writer. Another poster was pulled from his bag, and he gave it to the boy with a kind smile. Feliciano gaped, and his bright grin rejuvenated. “Gratzi Mister Spade! Gratzi! Gratzi! Gratzi!” he exclaimed, hopping up and down. He then gave Arthur a kiss on the cheek, and froze immediately. It was different in America than back in Italy, and he was still getting used to the culture. You can’t go around kissing strangers here for various reasons. 

Touching his cheek, Arthur smiled a charming smile and chuckled. “You’re welcome.”

As the bubbly Italian skipped over to show his picture to Ludwig, Arthur grabbed Romano and brought him close. “I don’t care if you don’t like me or what I do, but don’t crumple someone else’s happiness for your own selfish reasons. He’s a sweet boy, and deserves a good older brother, not one who spits on what he likes,” he murmured into the other’s ear.

Romano had the decency to look remorseful. That did not mean he would openly admit it. “Whatever, stupid bastard.” Walking away he announced loudly, “I’m leaving.” Antonio gave Arthur a kind smile and wink before trailing after him.

A warm bundle enveloped the blonde, and he hugged Feliciano back once he regained his balance. “Bye Mister Spade! Thank you again! I’ll take good care of it, ve!” Then he was gone, running after his family. 

Ludwig rolled his eyes, but a half-smile curved his lips. “How long have you been at this?” he asked, motioning to the new poster Arthur was hanging.

“Um, since around eight this morning.”

A fine, blonde eyebrow raised. “Have you taken any breaks?”

“A half hour to grab a quick lunch,” he shrugged and replaced his hammer. “I probably won’t be done until eleven. Ten if I’m lucky.” Leaning back on the bike again, he turned to his German friend. Green eyes drifted to the retreating group behind the tall blonde, and he could see Romano pocketing the wad of paper he had clenched in his hand. A warm feeling crawled up Arthur’s spine.

“Why don’t you come over our house when you’re done? I’ll save some dinner for you, and I’m sure Gilbert will be happy to see you.” It was touching, and the Englishman’s heart began fluttering from the kindness the other had offered. 

“That sounds fantastic. Thank you so much... Luddy,” teased the older blonde. 

“Whatever,” grumbled the German, but allowed his awkward smile to stay. “Get back to work. You better move it if you want to eat tonight.” 

“Yes, mum,” laughed Arthur. Before departing, he mock saluted Ludwig. As he pedaled away he heard a loud, “Luddy! Hurry up because we’re leaving you!” followed by an equally loud, “Or you can go jump off a building, you stupid macho potato eating bastard!” 

The rest of the day was tiring, but the prospect of a nice home cooked meal at one of his best friend’s houses lifted his spirits. Arthur’s thoughts trailed back to Romano, and the ghost of something crawled onto his face without him knowing. Even though he knows a lot of his posters are going to end up in the trash by tomorrow, he couldn’t bring himself to feel down about it.

As long as one certain torn, crumpled, imperfect Flying Mint Bunny stays alive, he’s okay.


	2. Maybe We Can Work

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Arthur was not expecting for their meetings to be more than fleeting. He was glad that he was wrong.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ireland - Brian
> 
> Scotland - Alastair
> 
> Wales - Evan
> 
> Northern Ireland - Patrick
> 
> Enjoy~

Last minute Christmas shopping is the absolute worst. Right now Arthur was walking around the local mall, doing his best to collapse into himself so he wouldn't have to touch anyone. Unless it was from someone familiar, he hated physical contact of any kind. He did whatever it took to avoid it. Throngs of families, teenagers, and singular persons like himself were bustling around the building. Some stores were employed with workers wearing strained smiles, while others housed those who made no attempt to hide tired eyes and who seemed like they'd rather eat rusty nails than be there one more minute. The man tried to be as nice as possible to these people, asking simple questions and giving simple answers if he were approached. If the store was out of an item, he wouldn't stand there and shout for an hour about how they were surely wrong and he demanded to speak to a manager, but simply thank the employee and leave. All of the relieved, grateful expressions he had received were enough for him.

Hours passed, and anything even remotely promising had either been out of stock for some time, or so far out of his price range that he gave no second glances. Right as the blonde was going to stomp out of that hellhole with nothing more than a big ol' "Fuck you", a tiny store hidden in a lesser populated area caught his eye. Clean windows were lined with replicas of various famous objects and paintings. The replicas were obviously those of a low quality, and Arthur had a very strong urge to bitch at the owner for their ridiculous prices.

But... that store had given him an idea, so he decided to spare it and it's employees his wrath. Practically running, he left the Mall and breathed a refreshing breath of fresh air as he burst outside. The cold was, for once, welcome. He was tired of inhaling the murky, dirty, hot air that wafted throughout that building. A shower sounded quite nice at the moment.

First, though, he needed food. Skipping breakfast had been a mistake, because he should have known he would not be eating lunch if he were still shopping around noon. Which he had been, and the Brit almost gagged every time he passed the Food Court. If not from the smell of the different food stalls, then from how some of those people were eating. Not all, and he sympathized with those who wanted to be anywhere else than next to a table filled with four children and a stressed mother, and an obese man who had sweat and other questionable liquids dripping down his neck.

Vehicles filled the streets, and Arthur almost opted to leave his crappy car and walk home. Then he remembered it was a forty-five minute drive, and grudgingly made his way to the beat-up automobile. The door was heavy, and he had to use all of his strength to slam it closed or else it would fly open while he was driving. Again.

Traffic was a mess, and for some inexplicable reason people tended to forget how to drive when the weather was something other than sunny and clear. Resisting the urge to smash his head into the steering wheel, the blonde sat back and closed his eyes at a red light. He was cold. Although his air conditioning worked, his heater had been shot since he bought the car, and he felt his fingers freezing through his gloves.

Suddenly the back door swung open, and Arthur cursed his luck that day along with his lack of automatic locks. Digging between his seat, his hand found and clutched the knife he stored there for such occasions. The man was ready to turn on whoever had the balls to break into his car - while he was in it, no less - and show them that they had picked the wrong person to rob/murder/kidnap/whatever.

"Hey Artie!" a loud, unmistakable voice screeched in his ear.

Arthur's grip loosened on the weapon, and he half turned in his seat to glare at the beaming thorn in his side sitting in the back seat. "Alfred," he growled, "what the fuck do you think you're doing?"

"Hey, wow, don't be mad! I saw your moving piece of scrap metal and thought I'd be a hero and save you from sitting through traffic alone!" Laughter erupted, and Arthur could do nothing but sigh and roll his eyes. He was used to this.

"Yeah, or you were tired and wanted to sit your lazy ass down," grumbled a third voice, alerting Arthur to Matthew's presence. The youngest gave a glance to the hand still in between the seats, and Arthur quickly retracted it. "I told you we should have knocked first."

"Ha ha ha! Knocking's for losers!" Arthur was about to scold Alfred, but a horn blowing behind him alerted the oldest to the green light and you need to move your ass now, buddy. He hated impatience (call him a hypocrite and he will chew your ear off so bad you'll form a phobia of English accents).

Once they got going, the Brit broke the silence. "So, what are you two doing out today?" He glanced at the twins in his rear view mirror.

"We were shopping," Matthew answered, gesturing to the bags dumped along the floor.

"You?" asked Alfred,

"Same." Then he took out a cigarette, lit it, and rolled his window down half way.

"Dude!" exclaimed Alfred, who was sitting behind the driver's seat, "It's fucking cold! Close the damn window!"

"I'm not going to expose you two to secondhand smoke." Matthew was snickering as Arthur grinned smugly.

"Then don't smoke! It's gross anyway," complained Alfred.

Waving it off, the green-eyed blonde flicked on his turn signal. "Yeah, yeah. It's on my list."

Folding in on himself, Alfred whined about the biting wind until the driver finished his cigarette and rolled his window back up. There was a comfortable silence as the trip proceeded after that. In his seat the American was still slightly moping, but the other two knew it was best to ignore him. Yes, it was beginning to be a pleasant drive. That is, until Alfred's stomach growled.

"I'm hungry!"

"No shit."

"Feed me, Artie!"

"You know can't cook, git."

"Well duh!" laughed the loud blonde, "I meant, like, McDonalds or something."

"You know I refuse to step foot in that place."

"Yeah yeah, you don't know what you're missing, dude."

Arthur rolled his eyes. "I saw a video where a rat was crawling in a pack of buns, and the manager said to only throw the ones with bite marks and shit away, and use the rest."

The silence behind him was counted as a personal victory.

Matthew pointed out of the window. "How about White Castle?"

Arthur gave the white building a skeptical once-over. The only times he had eaten that food was when someone else went on a food run at three in the morning from a whole house full of people who were either completely drunk, extremely high, or a mixture of the two. Those tiny burgers taste like fucking steak when you're wasted. But now he was sober, and would have said no to the grease soaked food if it wasn't Matthew asking. With a defeated sigh, he turned into the lot and drove around the drive-through. At least he didn't have to eat inside of such an establishment.

A slider each was given to the twins to hold them over until they got back home. Arthur took one as well, not caring about the interior of his car. Well, Alfred was the only messy eater in the vehicle, but he was like four sloppy people in one. It wasn't bad, but the blonde told himself it was because he was starving and anything would taste good right now. Suddenly a store he frequented came into view, and he was reminded of his earlier idea. Switching lanes, he easily pulled into the lot.

Stepping out of the car, he explained, "I need to get some things really quick. I'll be right back." Poking his head back in, he added, "Oh, and Matthew, I'd like to eat soon, so make sure that one doesn't get his hands on the food." Matthew nodded as his brother adorned a pout.

Arthur loved this shop. It was old and run down, but in a way that gave it character. A whole wall was given to him by the owner to paint on, and he took full advantage of it. Different forms of art, ranging from a child coloring with crayon, to a teenage girl painting with water colors, to a boy sculpting a figure out of clay, and so on were depicted. Flying Mint Bunny was mingling around them with a beret and painter's palette. Splatters of color were dotting him as well. The writer gave a fond smile to the wall.

Behind the counter sat a brown haired man texting on his phone. Once he saw Arthur, he immediately gave a lazy grin. "Arthur. How are you?" he asked, his voice quiet and soothing.

"Fine. Yourself?"

Tucking a lock of hair behind his ear, Heracles locked his sleepy leaf eyes with Arthur's brighter emeralds. "I'm doing great. Kiku's coming to my house for Christmas... even though he's not Catholic. I'm excited..." A sweet smile never left the Grecian-American's lips. Even though he never looked anything other than tired, there was a twinkle in his eye that Arthur positively itched to capture on paper.

"That's fantastic."

"Mmm. Do you need help with anything?"

Wandering over to the canvases, the Englishman put a finger to his lips. "I need one of these. And new detail and fan brushes." Heracles looked slightly surprised, but didn't question it.

"Would you like for me to get your brushes?"

"Sure," approved the blonde, trusting his friend's knowledge of art supplies. Skimming through the canvases, Arthur hummed a tune as he searched for one he liked. Heracles met him at the counter with the brushes. "Thank you for the help," he said after he paid for his stuff. The other gave a nod. "I have to get back to the car now. Alfred and Matthew are in there and.. well..." he trailed off. A quiet chuckle was his response. Turning to leave, he called back, "Bye. Tell Kiku we need to get together soon, yeah? I miss him."

Waving to the Brit's back, Heracles called, "Bye.. I'll pass the message." Slumping in his chair, he rested his head in his arms and gazed at his phone once more.

Upon exiting the store, Arthur saw his two cousins looking... normal. Too normal. However, as he came closer he could make out the tell-tale signs of a scuffle. Pieces of their hair were sticking up, clothing was bunched, and Matthew was not even attempting to hide his victorious smirk. Alfred was pouting, again, with his arms crossed.

"Thank you for protecting the food, Matt."

"Any time, Art." Oh, he was absolutely radiating smugness. Alfred harrumphed, and the elder didn't press for details.

The drive home was uneventful. Once they were parked, Alfred perked up and dashed into the building and up the stairs. Shaking his head, Matthew began to grab their bags, and even though his brother was the strongest out of the three of them, he neglected to take a single one. "I'll help," offered Arthur. He slung the food and art bags over one arm, smushed the canvas between his arm and side, and grasped a few of his cousin's bags with his remaining limb.

Thanking him, the quieter blonde easily managed the rest. The duo stepped up the stairs to see Arthur's door wide open, and Alfred sitting at the marker stained dining room table. Green irises rolled. "Honestly." Matthew agreed. The gift bags were set down first, followed by the plopping of the food on the table. "I'll be right back," announced Arthur, and turned to the energetic twin. "If I come back and the food is gone, it's your head." Alfred playfully bowed before proceeding to dump the burgers, fries, and chicken rings on the wooden surface.

As he walked to his room to set his canvas and brushes down, he heard Matthew's shy voice calling his brother a disgusting pig as Alfred ate each of his sliders in only one bite. Arthur shuddered at the mental image, and was glad he didn't have to witness the real thing. He would have most likely lost his appetite. Pulling out his phone, he texted his aunt, informing that her kids were staying the night at his apartment. Not a minute later he got a response.

FROM:  
Aunt Amelia  
Thats cool! Tell the boys I love them~! O! And you know youre coming over for Christmas with your brothers right? Great! See you later sweetie! :D  
7:37P Thur-22

Arthur made a mental note to buy extra ibuprofen.

.:.:.:.:.

"Twas the night before Christmas,  
and all through the street,  
many creatures were stirring,  
seeking homes and heat.  
A man famous and unknown passed house by house,  
in hope the one he sought had it's bright lights doused.  
To his surprise his hopes had come true,  
The only things lighting it, quaint bulbs of blue.  
And Roma in his night clothes, and I in my-

"I'm going to kill Alfred," hissed Arthur. His iPod was at his house, so he couldn't drown out the tune of The Night Before Christmas from his head. Every year he was forced to read it to his two cousins on Christmas Eve. Catchy tunes and poems get stuck in his head easily, and he can't help but parody them.

In his arms was a prettily wrapped present tied with his best ribbon work and a large bow. The canvas, now painted and full of color, was snug inside. Again, his Italian had changed his style. Electric blues and neon yellows were absent, replaced by soft dirt, natural greens, and vivid yet earthy reds. It was all amber and tan and soothing. On the surface was Romano, wearing old, dirty clothing and harvesting in an endless field of tomatoes with a smile of unperturbed joy. A simple straw hat rested on his head, and propped on his hip was a basket already brimming with the bulging fruit. The sun was shining, and the skies were clear. His ever (in)famous Flying Mint Bunny was hiding in the shadows of the plants, for once not apparent at first sight.

Honestly, once the writer finished, he didn't want to give it up. He wanted the real Romano to smile like he had painted, but doubted he would ever see such a thing. Something so happy and carefree. The boy really would look better with something other than a scowl on his face.

Oh. He made it to Antonio's porch. As it was already late, Arthur wasn't going to risk waking anybody up and having to face Spanish Wrath. For the night, the gift was going to have to be left outside. Which would not damage it since he coated it in plastic before wrapping it, but he didn't like the thought of some desperate asshole stealing it. It was very much a possibility, since it's happened already to other households.

Placing the package under the porch swing, the Englishman took one last glance at the home before walking off.

He did not see the flutter of curtains, nor hear the opening of a front door.

.:.:.:.:.

Days passed by after Christmas, and Arthur did nothing but the bare minimum of living. That includes eating, sleeping, showering, and working. Assuming to bring extra ibuprofen was smart. All five of his brothers were already hard enough to deal with, but throw in his aunt's family and he felt lucky to have survived.

No one was very wealthy, so the gifts weren't piled up to the ceiling like in those feel good Christmas specials. There were enough, and even though it was a pain, family was what really mattered to them all. Arthur's brother's made him open a package that held a little red dress, short but simple with a turtle neck that would "hide your lack of tits". It was to be expected, and he was unimpressed when they shoved a ruby clutch in his hands. Though he got curious as they urged him to open the purse. Inside was his real present. A golden bracelet with a variety of charms dangling from it. Slightly lost, he looked to his siblings. By the way they were averting their eyes and sheepishly scratching random body parts, he deducted it would spoil the mood to tease them. Clasping the jewelry around his wrist, he took the dress and gave it to his mom.

"I think this would look much better on you."

Alice smiled and accepted the gift. It was a sweet moment. Until Amelia started laughing and shouted, "Yeah, that dress is perfect to hide her lack of tits!" Which caused the rest of the room to turn red and awkward. Except for Alfred, who joined his mother with his own unique laughter. Punching her sister, the green-eyed woman began an argument and commented about how she was surprised Amelia doesn't topple over every time she stands up. The husbands sighed, this being normal with their wives, and the children (except Alfred) exchanged glances. Arthur decided it was time to pull out the pills, and offered some to everybody. They all jumped at the opportunity.

Now it was the 29th, and the Brit was taking time to walk around outside. He had no destination, but the fresh air was a welcome change to his stuffy, paint and marker fumed apartment. As he passed a coffee shop, he idly looked through the window and almost did a double take. Sitting at a booth across from Feliciano and Ludwig was Romano seeming like he very much did not want to be there. A cute pout plumped his lips as he stirred the mug in front of him with a spoon, his head in his palm. Then he glanced towards the window and saw Arthur. A tiny blush creeped to his ears, and the blonde gushed on the inside. Outside, though, he waved friendlily.

Being too engrossed with each other, the other two didn't notice. Romano looked to them, then back to Arthur and made a gagging gesture. Chuckling, the blonde gave an overly dramatic sympathetic expression back. Tan lips twitched with a smile, and amber eyes crinkled slightly. Arthur was stunned. He wanted to see it again.

Again the brunette turned his attention to the duo across from him, and Arthur followed to see that they were still oblivious. It was sweet, but it's bad manners to ignore someone sitting right across from you. Amber irises rolled and turned back to green. Arthur was happy to have the other's attention, and reveled in it. For a moment they stared at each other, then he jerked his head as if to say, "Come and walk with me."

Looking perplexed, Romano shrugged and flagged the waiter over. After a brief discussion the man departed only to come back a moment later with a lidded Styrofoam cup. Ludwig and Feliciano finally noticed something was happening, and the oldest of the trio sneered a little while dumping the rest of his drink in the container. Buttoning up his coat, he waved over his shoulder as he left the shop.

for a moment they stood facing each other, and Arthur was glad that he could blame the color on his cheeks on the weather. Romano wasn't faring much better, and it was a comfort to the blonde to know that he wasn't alone.

Romano tore his eyes away, his earlier pout returning. "Stupid bastard."

"Hello to you too, dirty mouth," greeted the amused Brit.

"Tsk." Arthur gave a crooked smile, and poked the boy with a fingerless-glove-turned-mitten hand. He was so happy that he was finally getting another shot to talk with the Italian one on one, and his heart beat fervently.

"Come on, let's walk."

He scoffed, but complied. "I'm only doing this because anything is better than being the third wheel with my dumb brother and the potato brain."

"I'll take that as a compliment."

"Whatever helps you sleep at night."

"Then I'll have some beer and a romcom marathon as well."

Romano laughed, and the Englishman wanted to bottle it up so he could listen to it over and over. "How old are you, bastard?" he asked, his smile still ghosting across his vision.

"Why should I tell you?" teased the blonde.

A smirk. "So I know if I should call Dateline or not."

Arthur snorted, causing the brunette to look at him funnily. "I'm twenty-one, git."

"Git?"

"It's a British thing," he waved off. "So, how old are you? Twelve? Thirteen?"

"Che palle! I'm eighteen, fucker!" Romano shouted in indignation, successfully attracting a number of stares. Arthur was too busy laughing to care. It seems anytime he's with the boy they obtain the scrutiny of the public. Not that they cared. "Whatever," grumbled Romano. They stopped at a crosswalk as the traffic lights turned. "What are you doing out here anyway?"

"Just out for a stroll." His laughter had finally died down. Yes, Romano was a lot of fun when he was calm.

"It's fucking freezing out! Why would you willingly walk in this?" he questioned, baffled.

"I've barely left my flat in days. Christmas was pretty harsh."

"Flat?"

"Oh," Arthur huffed, "sorry. Apartment."

"Oh. How long have you lived here?"

Genuinely surprised they've been civil to each other, the Brit slowly let his defences fall. He was pleased to know that they could talk like this. Extremely. Lifting his fingers, he talked to himself noiselessly as he counted the years. "Around ten. You?"

"Three. Me and Feli came to live with Antonio after our grandpa died."

Arthur didn't say how he already knew. "I'm sorry for your loss."

"Eh, shit happens," shrugged the boy. Arthur caught the sadness he was trying to hide.

Deciding to steer the conversation away from that topic, the blonde asked, "How was your Christmas?"

An appreciative glance was his reward. Then a scowl overtook it. "Pretty fucked up. I mean, some of it was okay. Antonio, Feliciano, and I went to Mass first. That was fine, but stupid Feli invited that potato sucker and his potato sucking older brother over, and stupid Toni invited this girl, Bella, and her stupid older brother over. She's nice, but Larz..." Here he made a face of disgust, and Arthur felt protective of his old friend.

"Larz what?" he prodded. If something happened, he wanted to know.

"I don't know. That bastard just creeps me out. He was really quiet and wouldn't stop sending these, like, murderous looks to Antonio." Romano was frowning now, and Arthur already missed his smile. "I'm pretty sure he does some kind of drugs too. Bastard's eyes were all droopy and kind of red."

"He's really not a bad guy," Mumbled Arthur, snuggling his nose into his scarf.

Whipping his head towards the taller man, Romano shouted, "What? You know that asshole?" Suddenly he fidgeted uncomfortably.

"And his sister," he nodded, not wanting his company to dash away. "We went to school together. Went through some shit together. All of that fun stuff. He's just not a people person." He stretched his neck sideways and smirked. "Kind of like you."

"Well neither are you, bastard," scoffed the Italian.

"I won't deny it."

After that there was a silence. Both boys had almost smiles tugging at their lips and eyes. Somehow they entered a small park without noticing and focused on the beautiful scenery. Clouds floated in a sheet overhead, tinting everything a grey-blue. Snow blanketed the ground, patches and strips disturbed and slushed from people making walkways, or children playing. Dark, naked trees towered over them, snow mounting in crevices and branches disturbed by roosting birds. The small pond was frozen, and scratch marks made by skaters like looping lacerations were apparent. Poorly constructed snowmen dotted the shore. Birds were pecking through the cold snow, scavenging for any food buried under the thick white.

It was peaceful, but Romano seemed to be in a talkative mood. "So, bastard, why was your Christmas so rough?"

"Ugh. Try sitting in a room with five roughhousing brothers, two cousins, one who is obnoxiously loud, while your mum and aunt argue about bra sizes, among other things. It gets to be exhausting." Arthur groaned. Simply thinking about his family made him want to crawl in a hole and become the first of the mole people.

A whistle. "Wow. Your family sounds like a train wreck."

"That's a nice way to put it." There was a tender tilt in the Englishman's tone and expression that contradicted the sarcasm. Lifting his wrist, he showed Romano his sparkling charm bracelet. It only comes off his wrist when he showers, and then goes right back on. Call him sentimental, but it means a lot to him. "My oldest brother, Brian, is a jewelry maker, and I think he let my other brother's make their own charms for me. This one," Arthur pointed at a very pretty shamrock, "is his." Next he touched a less professional attempt at a lion; it looked mildly retarded. "This is Alastair's."

"What is that?" asked the Italian, his nose scrunched in either disgust or confusion.

"A lion." Romano was baffled, and Arthur couldn't blame him. "The next one is Evan's," he continued, gesturing to a dragon that still was not very good, but was obvious as to what it was at least. The next two, a flax bloom and a rose, were cupped in his palm. "These two are from Patrick, which surprises me since he and Brian can't sit in a room together for more than ten minutes without a fight breaking out. And he's only thirteen."

"You're really not helping with trying to amend my assumption about your crazy ass family," Romano deadpanned.

Smirking, the Brit rebutted, "I was supposed to be trying?" Amber irises rolled. "This last one is from my youngest brother, Peter. Please, don't ask why he made, well, tried to make, a goat. I honestly have no idea, and I don't want to even attempt to understand what goes on in that little cretin's mind."

"Jesus. I'd rather live under some highway than with a family like that." Romano tried to imagine such a family, but instead a house filled with Antonio and five Felicianos popped in his head. It made him fear he would have a stroke.

"I don't know if I should take pride in your complimenting of my survival skills, or offended that an Italian thinks my family's too crazy to live with."

"Bastard."

Chuckling, Arthur bumped the younger boy's shoulder. "Luckily I don't live with them anymore. Patrick and Peter are the only ones left living with mum and dad." Glancing over, he saw the brunette hum and give a nod. It was surprising how well they were getting along. After all of this time there have been no real arguments, and the shouting has been kept to a minimum. Arthur felt a little bold.

"Did you get anything interesting for Christmas?"

Stumbling over a chunk of ice, Romano's cheeks darkened. He shifted and stuck his hands in his pockets, as if becoming as small as possible would help him disappear. Arthur hoped his painting hadn't been thrown in the trash. It would devastate him.

As Romano took a few deep breaths, the Brit inched closer as inconspicuously as possible. "Y-yeah, I did," stuttered the Italian, voice pitched just a tad higher than usual. "I got, uh, a new cell phone from Antonio. Feliciano got me a bunch of clothes, which is stupid since we wear each other's shit all the time. Oh, and Bella made us all, like, a shit-ton of chocolate."

"Mmhmm. Anything else?"

"Uh..."

"Anything at all?"

"Maybe..."

"Really? What was it?" Obviously Arthur knew exactly what it was, but Romano was a stubborn one. Not as stubborn as the Brit, however.

Shaking with his cheeks flushed in what Arthur could only guess was anger, he waited for another explosion. Stomping over to a bench, the brunette plopped down. There was a generous dusting of snow on it, but he didn't care. Both disappointed he had ruined their fun, and worried about his friend (because that's what they were now, right?), the Englishman followed. When in a good mood, Romano was amazing company.

Literally, the Italian could freeze is ass off, but Arthur refused to do so. He stood in front of the other, patiently waiting. Ungloved hands covered Romano's face, and when he finally did say something it came out too low and muffled. Now was not a time to tease him, so Arthur softly coaxed Romano. "I can't hear you."

"I said," his voice was louder, but still fogging behind his hands, "Why did you do that?"

Crouching down, Arthur sighed. For balance he rested his arms across Romano's jean clad knees. They stiffened, but nothing else. "I don't know," he finally answered. It was not a very satisfactory answer, but it's all the blonde had at the time. "Listen, it's really hard to explain. Like, I don't give a shit about what other people think of me, or what I do, which applies to you as well, but after that night we first met I couldn't get you out of my head." Finally Romano emerged from his palms. His cheeks were still heavily flushed, but fortunately not in anger. Arthur was happy to see his face.

"Why?" Arthur really hoped he wouldn't keep asking that. It annoyed him. But this was Romano, and he was finally trying to breach the communication barrier they had. He wanted more than a just kind of maybe friendship. Plus, that pout was begging to be kissed away.

Whoa, he mentally smacked himself, too fast.

"I don't know." The other scoffed. Arthur's head dropped. Maybe it was time to just say what was on his mind. What he knew and has known. What he wants. Jeez, his therapist would be doing somersaults if he knew Arthur was breaking out of his comfort zone. Ever since that portrait he's known how much he liked the saucy Italian, even though they've barely even interacted. Then today happens, and just that meaningless conversation has been the highlight of his entire year. Maybe if he can get Romano to trust him, even a little bit, he could convince him to give them a chance.

"After we met I could never completely forget about you," he began, catching and holding those amber eyes that haunt his everything. "Then I went to paint something for Larz, and told him about you. He told me how you lived with Antonio, and would come with him whenever you guys wanted to hang with Bella."

"Wait," interrupted Romano, who had forgotten that Arthur was still touching him, "why does it sound like you know Antonio?"

Smiling guiltily, he responded truthfully, "Well, that's because I do."

"How?"

"We used to date..."

Even though he had his head in the lion's mouth, the Brit was very close to laughing at Romano's gaping expression. It was funny. "W-wha-?" For once the Italian was at a loss for words.

"Oh shit," whispered Arthur. Something had just occurred to him. "Please tell me you know he's gay." He really didn't want to deal with the Spaniard if Romano didn't know. If so he might as well pack his bags now before he was sent on his royal guilt trip. Damn Antonio and his stupid kindness and sweetness and perfect ass!

"Huh? Of corse I do!" Arthur let out a relieved breath. "How could anyone not see how fruity that man is?" The Englishman chuckled. "No, I mean, you fucking dated him?"

"Yeah, he's a great guy. We just didn't work out. Which was my fault," he added as a mumble. Thinking about how all of his shit and messed up life drove away someone truly cared for saddened Arthur. At least they were okay now. It made him feel a little better. Romano wanted to ask more questions, but sensed that it was best to let the topic drop. A few moments passed, and the blonde pulled himself out of his stupor. "Anyway, after that you were even more prominent in my mind, and I wanted to let it all out. That's when I came up with your name and wrote it on that car."

"It was different," murmured Romano absentmindedly. Receiving a questioning look from Arthur, he flushed. "I mean.. from your other shit. It was different. The color and style and shit. It was... softer, more mellow I guess."

The brunette's ears burned as Arthur beamed at him. "That's exactly what I wanted! It's what I see when I think of you! Those colors, they're so weird and different for me, but I really like them."

"The painting. It was the same." Looking to the blonde, Romano detected a pink petal dusting the bridge of his nose. He didn't believe it was from the cold. "Why did you paint that?"

"I wanted to see you smile." The Brit's voice was small, and his eyes were diverted.

"My smile?"

Green glanced at amber through yellow. "Yeah. I think it's pretty, and much better than your frown.

Not knowing what to say, the brunette could only stare desperately at the man. "P-pretty?" He wanted to be angry, but miserably failed.

"Alright then," Arthur snickered, "Then I find your smile very handsome, my good sir. Better?" A cocky spark reignited in Arthur as his confidence trickled back.

"Are you really flirting with me, bastard?" Romano didn't look angry. Maybe a little defensive. Sad? Arthur couldn't understand why.

"And if I am?" he asked back, squeezing the other's knees for no other reason than because he felt like it.

Distrust was leered at the other's hands, but the Italian was in too deep of thought to do anything about them. "I... don't know what to say."

"Hey, if you're straight just say so. I'm not going to pressure you into doing anything that would make you uncomfortable." Arthur wouldn't admit how that thought made his chest tighten and lips slightly quirk downwards.

"It's not that..." the Englishman perked up. "I mean, I kinda do like girls more, but I don't really care." By the way his face was tilted and shadowed, it was difficult for Arthur to clearly see his expression. Then it moved to look at the blonde, and Arthur finally grasped at what Romano was feeling.

Confusion.

Not just every day confusion, but a deep, dark confusion that left a person with a constant defensive wall surrounding them, and inner turmoil not unlike a tornado. It was something Arthur knew all too well.

Romano needed to talk. Who knows how long he has been like this, and Arthur feels like he needs to do everything in his power to help. Not here, though, for his legs were cramping and it really was quite freezing. Also, it was just plain stupid to have such a talk in public, sitting on a wet bench in the middle of December. It needed to happen somewhere warm and private. Somewhere where Romano could openly express his self without the self conscious fear of being scrutinized by others.

Taking the Italian's hands between his mittens, Arthur stood. Startled at the unexpected movement, Romano looked up at the pained expression across the other's face. Arthur bent his legs behind his back a few times to try to get his blood pumping through them. He prayed that the hellish pins and needles feeling wouldn't happen.

"Hey, come to my apartment with me."

Rapidly blinking, Romano took his time hearing what the other had said. "What? Hell no! I barely even know you, bastard! Why the hell would I do that?"

Squeezing the smaller hands, Arthur smiled kindly. "Because I know what you need right now. Look, I'll call Antonio and tell him where you are. Please, Romano, trust me," he pleaded with his expression, trying to convey how serious he was. Romano was visibly crumbling, and Arthur hoped he understood how much he wanted to help.

"Fine... Go ahead and call him," he grumbled. With a scowl, he stood. Arthur gave a crooked smile. "You're going to have to let go of my fucking hands now, bastard." Feeling a yank, the blonde was surprised at how disappointed he was without that warmth against his palms.

"Alright, brat," he said, unearthing his phone from his pocket, "Alright."

.:.:.:.:.

Although Arthur's apartment was clean and organized, it was still relatively small and not very luxurious. Furniture consisted of scavenged pieces he found at either secondhand stores, yard sales, or whatever his family didn't want anymore. Most every surface had paint splatter or marker markings on them. To Arthur, it was a very comfortable environment that was well loved and lived in, but the man couldn't help but feel somewhat self conscious as Romano entered his home with an unreadable expression.

Not that he cared! So what if Antonio's family had money, and the adopted Italian twins are living in a nice house with matching decor and unlimited hot water?

Okay, so he was a little envious. How could he not be?

After hanging his coat and scarf on the coat stand, he held his hand out to take his guest's as well. A moments hesitation later Romano shrugged off his outerwear and gave it to Arthur.

"Would you like a drink?" asked the blonde, trying to banish the awkward atmosphere they could both sense descending upon them.

"No, I'm fine." He wasn't helping. Outside it was okay. There were other people walking around in the wide open, easily escapable space. Behind closed doors was a lot different. No easy way outs existed, and there was no one to potentially overhear anything. It was frightening for both of them; Arthur because of his standoffishness, and Romano because of his general dislike of humans.

The older man sighed, already feeling his stress levels rise. Crushes sucked, and he was annoyed that it had gotten him into playing therapist for a boy he honestly did not know. Curse his heart. Grabbing the Italian's arms, he drug them to his couch accompanied by a barrage of what he assumed to be Italian insults.

As he plopped down he pulled Romano along to rest in an inelegant heap beside him. With a pink face, the boy grumbled under his breath. Arthur clamped a hand over his mouth just as he was opening it to bitch at the blonde for manhandling him.

"Listen," Arthur started, biting his lip, "I can tell you're keeping a lot of shit bottled up right now, and personal experience tells me that that's not good. So we're going to sit, and you're going to talk, got it?"

"I'm not bottling anything up!" denied the boy. Anyone else would have been fooled, but Arthur could see past Romano's wall and notice all of the little quirks and twitches his own body knew all too well.

"I won't tell anyone. I promise."

"I said I'm not fucking bottling anything up! What are you, deaf?"

"You're lying."

"I am not, damnit!"

"You are."

"There's nothing fucking wrong with me, bastard!" Romano shot up, screaming with his fists clenched at his sides. Tears were fought back and he was trembling. This is what Arthur wanted, for once. They were getting somewhere, and judging by how fast it took he figured that the brunette needed this more than he had first thought.

"I never said there was anything wrong with you." He was playing with his words, but Romano seemed to be the blind with anger type, and wouldn't notice.

Lost, disbelieving amber eyes opened. Chancing it, Arthur laced their fingers together and lightly tugged so he would sit back down. Romano was deep in thought, and the blonde waited patiently. Their fingers were still intertwined.

"I don't understand you, bastard." It was so quiet, but Arthur gave a small squeeze to show that he'd heard.

"I've been told I'm not an easy person to figure out." he answered wryly. " What do you think is wrong with you?"

It looked as if Romano was about to argue with him. Then he deflated and took on a small, but powerful frown. He opened his mouth a few times, but nothing would come out, like his tongue was super glued to the roof of his mouth. A growl emitted from his throat as a scowl creased in his eyebrows. Clearly the Italian was frustrated.

An idea then hit the Brit. Sliding to the ground, he told Romano to follow his example. The other gave a "What the fuck are you doing?" look, but silently complied. Arthur then turned Romano and himself so they were facing away from each other and leaning on each other's backs. An adjustment to their hands later, and he deemed them ready to continue.

"Now, answer my question," he said in a firm, but soft tone.

A deep breath followed an audible gulp. "Everything."

Frowning, Arthur waited for the other to continue. He didn't. "Everything is wrong with you?"

"Yes."

"That's bullshit."

Romano's body tensed, but he didn't turn around. "What the fuck do you mean? Of course there's nothing right with me! Hell, there must be something wrong with you if fucking interested in me!"

"There are a lot of things wrong with me, but we're talking about you right now," Arthur chuckled. "I think you're lovely."

"You're a fucking idiot." The Englishman hummed lightly. "How can you like me? I'm all fucking moody and grumpy and boring and can't do anything right but insult people!"

"I think you're passionate. You're like a firework. Loud, pretty to look at, and filled with color."

"You're impossible," groaned Romano.

"Not impossible. Just very difficult."

"Asshole."

"It's all part of the package," he laughed. "I like everything about you. You're calming to look at, and you're fun to talk to. You don't hide your opinions about things, and your personality is so unexpected when someone first meets you. I like the unexpected. I think you're brilliant."

"B-bastard..." Even though he couldn't see, Arthur was sure he'd made the boy go red in the ears. "You're still a retard. Why wouldn't you want to flirt with someone nice, like my fucking brother?"

There it was. The root of all of Romano's insecurities.

Pale tightened around tan. "Your brother is charming in his own way, I'll admit. He's very cheerful and seems to bring nothing but joy to those around him. He's lively and easy to befriend," Arthur could feel Romano's head fall, and immediately felt terrible, but such truths were necessary, "but he's also obviously not the sharpest tool in the shed. His feelings are easily hurt, and the real world is more than likely going to chew him up and spit him out once he graduates from school." Romano snorted at this, and unknowingly eased the blonde's mind. "Now back to you. Yes you're grumpy and have the mouth a sailor would admire, but I can also see that you're very loving to those close to you, and protective of your family.

"Now lets look at me. I'm an illegal street artist who has made shit decisions in my past, can't use the oven without setting something on fire, and puts on a mask of indifference to hide just how scared people make me. But I've been working hard to get my life back in order, I'm fiercely loyal to my family and friends, and I'm quite fond of embroidering unicorns on pillowcases." Real laughter sounded through the apartment, and Arthur desperately hoped he was getting somewhere with Romano, because that last thing was an accident and he didn't want to be deathly embarrassed for nothing. "We all have our own faults and points that shine, Romano, and as long as you have a good heart, there's no reason for anyone, not even yourself, to dislike you." Dropping his head to rest on the other's shoulder, he locked onto the sweet smelling brunette's eyes from the corner of his own. "It's just a bonus that you're so cute. Oh, sorry, I mean handsome."

Romano was trembling with flushed cheeks again, but Arthur was glad that it wasn't negative this time. It was from embarrassment and that uncomfortable feeling when you're someone who doesn't take compliments well. Arthur grinned. Suddenly the Italian turned and buried his nose into the Brit's neck. "Don't you say a fucking word," he grumbled, and Arthur felt the dampness that could only be a tear seeping into his skin. One tear was followed by another, and soon the blonde was leaning against the sofa with his arms wrapped tightly around Romano, and had the other's limbs wrapped around him just as tightly, if not more so. As long as it was Romano, he would gladly give all of the comfort he could manage.

Eventually Romano stopped crying, and began to take bone shuddering breaths to try and get himself together. Arthur all the while murmured into his hair and kissed his temple. This time in his home had been emotionally draining, but satisfying none the less. For another while they sat on the carpeted floor, Arthur rubbing soothing circles in Romano's spine as Romano none too discreetly used his collar to wipe his face.

"Feel any better, my little Italian?" asked the Englishman with a hint of playfulness. He wanted to show that they were definitely done with their talk. Romano elbowed his shoulder, and mumbled something into the cotton of his shirt. "Sorry, I didn't catch that."

"I said my name's Lovino, you deaf bastard."

Stunned, Arthur sat there until a bright smile overtook his entire being. He hugged Lovino (Lovino Lovino Lovino) even tighter and turned his lips to the brunette's ear. "My name is Arthur. A pleasure to make your acquaintance, Lovino."

A shudder went down the Italian's spine, though he would forever deny it. Leaning back, he smiled at Arthur, making the Brit's heart skip a beat. "I'd have thought we were past such introductions?"

"Of course not, love." Ro-Lovino blushed at the endearment, not knowing that it was not used strictly for romantic interests. Though Arthur rarely used it anyway, so it really was special in this case. "We've never properly introduced ourselves before." Romano's eyes rolled. "So tell me, will you go out with me, Lovino?" He really liked saying the other's name. It felt nice rolling off of his tongue.

Lovino hummed and gave a playful smirk from under his lashes. "I'll think about it."

.:.:.:.:.

"I'm going to Heaven."

"You're a fucking idiot."

Unfortunately this was not Lovino, no matter how familiar that insult was. To be fair, he was sure the Italian would have many, many more choice words for him if he knew what Arthur was up to. It was incredibly stupid, Arthur knew, but it was something he felt that he had to do. He didn't have to do it at all, but admitting that would make him turn tail and go back home. Which he refused to do.

But dear God was this stupid.

"If you die, don't blame me. I tried to talk you out of this."

He turned to face his friend, Alexander, a boy with strawberry blonde hair and red-brown eyes. A cranberry trench coat hugged his frame as a little hat was tilted and clipped on his head. An almost unnoticeable lisp impeded his speech from his Romanian born parents, who had moved to the United States shortly before their child was born.

Next to Alexander was his on and off Bulgarian boyfriend, Mitre. At the moment they were on, after a testosterone filled battle of the alpha male between Alexander and Gilbert, both vying for the attention of Elizabeta after the Hungarian broke up with her boyfriend. It ended in neither of them winning, and both with giant, frying pan induced knots on the back of their heads. Mitre was an optimistic boy with umber-brown hair and light brown eyes. Also worried about Arthur, he had taken to singing a song under his breath to calm his nerves. He wasn't very good at dealing with stress.

The Brit sighed in exasperation. "I know, I know. You're here to make sure that if something does happen, someone will be there to do something about it right away."

"Don't jinx yourself!" snapped Alexander, smacking his forehead. Arthur smiled apologetically and crouched to check his small bag. Everything he needed was there. After making sure his baggy pockets were also properly equipped, he stood and shouldered the bag.

"Alright. I should be done relatively quickly. I know what I'm doing, and could paint them in my sleep," he smirked, albeit nervously.

"That should help, since, you know, it's pitch black out and everything," deadpanned the Romanian-American.

"Come back safely," said Mitre, stepping closer to his boyfriend, "Or maybe ve can go home just now, and I make a nice dinner?" It was a last-ditch effort, and although it didn't deter Arthur, he was still grateful for the sentiment.

"I'll be fine." he said. No one mentioned the shake in his voice. If they did, the man would have blamed it on excitement rather than fear.

Just like most of his other excursions, it was dark out. Alexander had driven them to the nearest highway, and parked half on the pavement, and half on a hill that ran along the road for miles. He was an absolutely ridiculous driver, and obviously drove so dangerously on purpose. Especially since he was the perfect model whenever the police were around.

Arthur was simply consoled that it wasn't Bella behind the wheel.

The writer walked towards the structure of the large signs hanging above the highway. Once at the bottom, he simply stared up at his destination. It was very, very high, and he was sweating despite the frigid air. If Arthur was not careful, he could easily fall to his death. Now was the time to panic, because once he was up there he couldn't let anything avert his focus.

Taking a deep, steady breath, he gripped the metal in front of him. The extreme cold was enough to seep through the thick leather of his gloves. A few steps later, and he was a couple of feet from the ground. Glancing behind his shoulder at his friends, he saw Alexander give him a thumbs up, and Mitre a tiny wave. He turned back to his task.

Step, step, step. Echoing through the night were the sounds of his boots hitting the crisscrossing beams of steel, and his labored breathing. Maybe he really should quit smoking soon. Down below there was a steady trickling of automobiles. Either they didn't notice what he was doing, or simply didn't care. After Arthur was certain he had found the meaning of forever, he made it to the top. On all fours, the Englishman slowly crawled his way to the back of the nearest sign.

Secured around the blonde's waist was a bungee cord. One end was hooked to his belt loops, and he took the other to attach to a part of the structure. Arthur covered his mouth and nose with the mask hung around his neck. As he slid the bag off of his shoulder, a gust of freezing wind blew and rocked the writer to the core. His calm came back as soon as it was over.

Only two colors lay inside of his bag, and he took his favorite mint green to paint his signature Flying Mint Bunny on the silver of the sign. Once he finished the green, the Brit pulled out his black to paint the face and outline a couple of features. The tip had previously been replaced with the thinnest tip he owned. After that Flying Mint Bunny was completed, Arthur unhooked from the steel and carefully crawled to the second sign. Like the last time, he clasped himself to a beam and began the process all over again.

It was as the man capped the green spray paint when things went terribly wrong. A rouge bat flapped right into his face, startling Arthur and pushing him backwards. His feet, which were tucked into the steel beams, stopped him from falling, and possibly saved his life. Though at that instant a fiery pain shot up and engulfed his left leg. He felt the snap, and swears he heard it too.

From below he could hear a mortified squeak and a panicked, "Damnit, Arthur! don't you dare fall!" Everything sounded muffled, and the writer became dizzy from the rushing of his blood. But he was so close, and if he didn't finish this piece, then everything would have been for nothing. Arthur relied on his pride and stubbornness to get him through the next few minutes.

Gripping the steel with his hands, he used all of his upper body strength to pull himself back up into a sitting position. Arthur's heart was beating harder than ever before, and he panted lightly. The pain in his leg formed tears in his eyes, but he squared his jaw and wiped them away. Yanking the black out of his bag, he was about to fervently finish the Bunny before he thought better and stopped. It would be bad if he made a mistake right now, so he took a moment to calm down.

Not five minutes later, and he was done. The blonde did not regret any of this, and knew he never would. These Flying Mint Bunnies were more than something to prove how great of a street artist he was. They were not there as a way to claim kingship. They are a symbol, a proposal of sorts, specially made for a slender, red faced, scowling Italian he'd recently met.

If this didn't prove how serious he was, nothing would.

Materials were packed away, and Arthur yanked off his mask. Fresh air tasted amazing, even though the chill burned his lungs. Unhooking himself, he began the agonizing trek back to sturdy ground. Arthur wasn't exactly sure how he was going to get down, but guessed he would have to grit his teeth and deal with the pain.

"I seriously hate you, you fucking dumbass!" called Alexander as he neared the ledge.

"That's great," Arthur grunted, "but can you two stand under me? My leg is broken, and if I slip I'd like to land on something other than concrete."

"You're leg's broken?" shouted the blonde.

"Oh God! Are you okay?" yelled Mitre at the same time.

"Yeah, just peachy." He heard the Bulgarian mumble something that was most likely an apology. Heads of blonde and brunette stood beneath him, so he timidly began his descent. Moving his left leg was impossible. Arthur was forced to rely on his arms as he let his legs dangle until his good foot found a perch, and climb down enough to repeat the process. It was exhausting. Every time he dangled Alexander would curse in Romanian, and a Bulgarian prayer followed right after.

If Arthur thought going up took forever, coming down was most definitely the equivalent of infinity. Finally, he was low enough for his friends to grab onto and support him. The writer was extraordinarily thankful for his gloves; he would not have been able to grip the cold, sharp steel beams if they weren't protecting and warming his fingers. Helping Arthur limp back to the car, the couple sat him just inside the rear seat.

Mitre quickly ran to grab the flashlight in the dash as Alexander relieved the Englishman of his bag and cord. A light flashed on the duo, and all three of the boys stared at Arthur's leg. Slowly, Arthur grasped the cuff of the fabric and eased it up.

"Oh shit!"

"It is not having to be amputated, right?"

Arthur could only stare. Well damn. The calf was twisted almost completely sideways, and his knee looked as if it was going to break out of his skin. Even though there was no blood, except for shallow scratches made by the structure, the sight of his mangled leg was gruesome. Looking at it, the man was surprised it didn't hurt more. Now that he was not moving the pain had receded to a harsh, burning throb, but wasn't as bad as one would expect.

"Ve need to be going to the hospital," worried the brunette, face pale from staring at the twisted limb.

"I know, I know, just... let me get a picture first, 'kay?" Arthur rolled his eyes as the Romanian-American brought out his phone and clicked the camera option.

"Are you serious?" asked Mitre, looking both disturbed and incredulous. "We need to be going now!"

"One sec," There was a snap. "Holy crap that's awesome!" Alexander showed the picture to Arthur, who had to admit the darkness seeping through the yellow of the flashlight and low quality of a cell phone camera really did make an eerie shot. He'd need a print out.

"Okay, you are done," said the Bulgarian, pushing his boyfriend towards the driver's seat. "Now if you are not minding, hospital please?" Over his shoulder, Alexander smirked, showing off his sharp snaggletooth. Shaking his head and helping the Brit get all the way into the car, Mitre walked over to sit beside Arthur to make sure he was okay on the road.

Just as he'd expected, the drive to the hospital was perfect and smooth. Alexander bragged about his awesome driving capabilities all the way there. Mitre was obviously not listening, choosing to sing along to the radio in semi-broken English. All in all, Arthur had an enjoyable night.

.:.:.:.:.

"Well, that is definitely broken," assessed the dark skinned doctor, his deep brown eyes examining Arthur's leg behind black rimmed glasses.

Alexander snorted. "Really?"

"Is he going to be okay?" queried Mitre, pinching the blonde next to him to behave.

"I'll be fine," reassured the Brit. Turning to the doctor, he asked, "I'm sorry, but I can't help but notice that you have a slight accent. Where are you from?"

Dr. Aboya smiled, his white teeth sparkling. "I'm Cameroonian." Now understanding the French tilt his letters took, Arthur nodded. The doctor then prodded Arthur's leg, his dark hand contrasting with pale skin in a way Arthur quite liked. "I believe we're going to have to go through with surgery."

The Englishman groaned. Alexander snickered. Mitre elbowed him in the ribs.

"How did this happen, by the way?" asked Dr. Aboya.

"I was carrying some things up the stairs to my apartment, and tripped and fell down the stairs. I guess I landed awkwardly or something on my leg." Lying was easy for Arthur, and his face betrayed nothing to the older man.

Aboya hummed to himself. "I see. That's most unfortunate." While the doctor's back was turned, Arthur kicked Alexander in the thigh with his good leg, as he saw the tell tale signs of outright laughter bubbling in the other's throat. "I'm sorry to say that you'll have to wait for six 'ours before we can begin. Your stomach must be empty before we can put you under anesthesia." He apologetically smiled.

"That's alright," sighed the patient. "You two can go if you want," he added, turning to his two friends. "Thanks for driving me here." And for coming with me earlier.

Grinning, Alexander threw his hands around the back of his head. "No prob! But yeah, it's late, and I'm tired. Plus it's past Mitre's bedtime," he teased, bringing his arms back down to wrap around a pouting Bulgarian's waist.

"It is not."

"So you do have a bedtime?"

"No! No more twisting my word around!"

"Boys, boys," the African man chuckled, "not so rowdy. We are in a hospital."

"Go home, you two. I'll be fine," encouraged Arthur. All of this excitement added to his broken leg was putting a lot of stress on him, and he wanted nothing but quiet right now.

"Okay," said Mitre. Smiling, he laced his finger's between Alexanders. "Inform us of how you are doing vhen you can, okay?"

"Will do," promised the Englishman. He smirked at the Romanian-American, who was trying to appear cool even though his flushed cheeks and goofy grin told everybody otherwise.

"Yeah, well, see you later, man." Clasping Arthur on the shoulder, Alexander then turned to leave with Mitre.

Arthur let out a deep, relieved breath. Aboya laughed. "Some friends you've got there."

"That was only two of them," scoffed the blonde. Another deep laugh sounded.

The duo then began discussing the surgery, paperwork, persons that should be notified (Arthur shuddered), and a plethora of other medical mumbo-jumbo. In between the business they bantered animatedly about football (European, that is), and found a nice companionship in each other.

.:.:.:.:.

Five more minutes.

Apparently, the universe hated him as no one would listen to his inaudible pleas. Many voices resonated in the room, all seeming to talk at the same time. They were trying to keep quiet, but obviously failing.

"Shu' th' fuck up," groaned the semi-conscious man. The noise stopped, then came back at ten times the volume. Oh, Arthur thought, it's my family. Fantastic.

Hazed green eyes cracked open, but snapped shut right away. It was unbearably bright, and his mind was far too foggy to attempt to deal with it. His body felt sluggish and numb, except for his left leg, which pulsated under his cast. It was annoying. Whether he was thinking about his family or broken leg, he couldn't tell.

Breaking through the cacophony was his mother. "If you all don't belt up this instant, I will tan the hides off of each and every one of you, hospital or not!" It went hushed instantly, and Arthur loved it when Alice's terrifying side was used on others besides him. It was hilarious. No one dared to question her threats. Not after the last time. "Now, Arthur," she started gently, and he felt a pressure in his hand and figured she was holding it, "are you alright? How do you feel?"

Fluttering his eyelids once again, the man found it was still too hellishly bright and kept them closed. "'M fine. Can' feel much of anythin' righ' now," he murmured. "Tired."

"The doc said you fell down some stairs." That was Alastair. "But he told us he does not believe you. Says the angle of the break didn't make sense or somethin'" More silence. "So, what happened?" prodded the redhead.

"Mmmm... Go 'way. No one likes you," was Arthur's response.

"Lil' bastard."

"Alastair!" Alice reprimanded, giving her son The Look. She then turned back to the bedridden blonde, ignoring the not so hidden snickering of the rest of the children. "But he is right, love. What did you do last night?" Motherly steel ingrained in her tone, and Arthur inwardly sighed. He wasn't getting out of this entirely, but he was in no mood to talk about his graffiti.

"It wasn't anything bad. Promise. Can I tell you when I'm not feelin' like shit? I'm too tired to be bothered righ' now." Alice scoffed, and most likely rolled her eyes, but agreed.

"So ho-"

"BASTARD!"

"Craaaap."

As the door slammed open, Arthur shot up in his bed faster than one would think possible. It was bright, but his eyes were open, and in front of him was Lovino, but it was still so very bright, but Lovino is so warm and dark and that's the only way he could stand the bright. Storming over the the side of the bed opposite of Alice, Arthur would have been dancing if the Italian didn't look so murderous.

"You fucking idiot! What the hell were you thinking? No, don't answer! You weren't, were you? Fuck! You stupid!" he slapped the blonde's arm, "Retarded!" slap "Fucking!" slap "Idiot!" slap "Fucker!" slap "Bastard!"

Aside from Lovino's heavy breathing, the room was deathly silent. Which really was not a very good metaphor since they were in a hospital.

"You saw it, then." said Arthur, staring at the bed sheets.

"I-" Lovino didn't know what to say. All of his feelings evaporated after screaming at his maybe boyfriend.

"Whoa whoa whoa! Who's the ankle-biter?" asked Brian.

Snapping out of their own little world, the two glanced around the room. All of Arthur's brothers, his mother, Amelia, and his cousins were there. Was it allowed to have so many people in a room at once? Arthur didn't know, but his family was one of a kind, and he didn't blame the staff from stepping back and letting them be. It was the smartest route to take.

"This is Lovino Vargas. He's Antonio's cousin," introduced Arthur, loving how red the brunette's cheeks were becoming for so suddenly being put on the spot.

Instantly, an uproar of introductions and backwards compliments ensued. Lovino was obviously overwhelmed. Nudging Alice, Arthur silently jerked his head towards the rest of the family. "You all know that my threat still stands, correct?" she asked in a honey sweet tone that sent shivers down everyone's spines, even the Italians. Again, the silence was deafening.

Dr. Aboya chose that moment to enter the room. He looked slightly defensive, and Arthur figured he was waiting outside by the door until it seemed safe to come in. "I see you weren't over exaggerating last night," he admitted to the patient.

Smirking, Arthur replied, "Not in the least." His family gave him knowing pouts.

"I really should have warned the staff," the Cameroonian mumbled, then announced in a louder voice, "It looks like everything is fine, and you may sign out and go home whenever you like."

That was good news. Arthur wanted nothing more than to leave the place. It was much too boring and sterile and white. Definitely not his favorite establishment in the world.

"I do want to schedule an appointment in about three weeks so I can check on your progress and replace the pins," added the doctor. Waving, he left the overstocked room as quickly as he could without seeming impolite. If he could, Arthur would do the same. Though, he wouldn't go far. He could tell his mother had already planned for him to stay with her for who knows how long, and there was no escape.

"Hey mum, could you sign me out?"

"Sure, love," she agreed. Standing up and stretching, Alice then rounded up all of her boys and Amelia before walking out.

"Bye, Artie! See you soon!" called Amelia.

"Alfred, Matthew, would you mind helping me dress?" he lowly requested, looking away.

"Ha ha ha! Sure, dude! But jeez, you really are getting old if you need help with that!" teased Alfred with a cheeky grin. A pillow whacked him in the face.

Lovino was blushing. "Hey, when they're done I'll have them send you in, okay?" said the Englishman with a tender smile. It didn't go unnoticed by the twins.

"Che, whatever." The Italian stomped out of the room, and Arthur thought it was with less energy than usual.

"You like him," said Matthew.

"So?" It was all the Brit had. Snarky comments were, at the moment, unheard of to him. Anesthesia was still running through his veins, and he really wanted to go back to sleep. Matthew took pity and left it at that.

"He your boyfriend?" asked Alfred a bit sternly.

"I'm trying. Last we talked he was thinking about it." Matthew set his clothing on the foot of the bed, and bumped his brother to help him sit Arthur up. After they got the green-eyed blonde sitting, they ran into a problem. Arthur was naked under the medical gown.

"Duuuuuuude! Not cool!" whined Alfred.

Rolling his eyes, the older boy asked whatever deity watching over him what he had done to deserve this. "I don't like it any more than you. Look, all you have to do is get them above my knees, and I can do the rest," he snapped.

Alfred whined more, and the task was predictably left to the more mature of the twins. Boxer briefs were carefully slipped around Arthur's legs, and the man took over while thanking Matthew. Next were his trousers, and Arthur thanked the stars that they were a pair of his graffiti wear. Even though they were baggy, and his cousins were being careful, his leg still throbbed with every movement. Ripping the pale gown from his torso, Arthur grabbed and wiggled into his shirt, followed by a hoodie. Since he could only wear one sock and boot, he threw the others at Alfred and told him to carry it. Pouting, he reluctantly obeyed.

"Can you send Lovino in, please? I need to talk to him."

"Sure," said Matthew. Grabbing Alfred, he exited the room. The door did not even have a chance to close before Lovino pushed his way through it. A scowl housed his face, but Arthur was glad his fury had dissipated. Lovino took a seat in the chair his mother was previously using, and stared at the clasped hands in his lap. Not a very good start.

"Lovino-"

"You're a stupid fucking idiot..." Arthur could not find it in himself to be annoyed at being cut off. It was an extremely idiotic thing for him to do, after all. His sarcasm and sass wouldn't work if he were in the mood to use it. The Italian was genuinely distraught. "And you know what? I found out from Antonio, who found out from some bastard I don't know! How many other people knew before me?"

"I don't know." At least Lovino wasn't screaming. "May I explain?"

"Do you really have a good reason? Then sure, I'd love to hear it. I want to know why you were up there in the first place, I do watch the news, dumbass! And I want to know why you didn't call me last night!" Crossing his legs and arms, he gave Arthur a scolding leer.

The blonde frowned. He wanted to show the painting to Lovino himself. Though not by much, those Flying Mint Bunnies were different than usual. One had a set of bushy eyebrows set over bored eyes, and the second had it's mouth in the shape of an upside down v with a curl spouting from it's head. Obvious to anyone who knew the boys that they were being represented, Arthur knew that only they would know the true meaning behind the picture.

Impatience made the brunette begin tapping his foot. Arthur thought it was cute. "You know what the signs mean. I wanted to prove that I really like you, and it was my way of asking for you to give me a chance."

"Well I already made my decision before that, dumb bastard."

"You did?"

"Yeah, and now I'm thinking about changing my mind! Why wasn't I the first one you called last night?"

"I didn't call anyone last night, git!" Exhausted and forming a headache, he threw his hands in the air.

"...What?"

"I forgot my phone in my friend's car with the rest of my stuff. I didn't want anything on me to link back to the graffiti, so I left it all in the car and forgot to take my phone out of my bag. I mean, my leg was at an angle that no leg should ever be. Excuse me for being absent minded," he huffed. Quietly, Lovino glanced away, and the Englishman closed his eyes. They stung pleasantly, and he didn't want to open them again. God, Lovino could be difficult. "Alexander must have told someone, and it just spread around. I'm sorry I never called, but I couldn't remember your number and I literally woke up right before you came plowing in here," said Arthur, more subdued this time.

Hanging his head, the brunette sighed. He slid his amber irises to Arthur's hand laying beside a bony hip and bashfully took it in his own. Nothing was said, but they squeezed lightly. "Sorry. I let my temper take over, and wasn't thinking right."

Smiling at him, Arthur lifted their hands and placed a kiss on the back of tan skin. "It's alright. How about this, you can be the first to sign my cast."

With a flushed face, Lovino turned his head to the cast clad leg. An eyebrow raised. "Why is it pink?"

"Because I'm manly enough to pull it off," smirked Arthur. Lovino rolled his eyes and snorted, then examined it closer.

"Uh, I think somebody beat me to it."

"What?" Looking down, the blonde saw "Property of Sealand" and a bumpy illustration of the flag Peter has posted all over his room scrawled on his ankle. "That little tosser!" he shouted.

Lovino laughed. "Whoa! Your accent gets thick when you're angry." Huffing, Arthur crossed his arms and grumbled threats under his breath. "But I don't see a name, so technically I would be the first to sign it."

Surprised, the Brit stopped his growling and looked at Lovino. A smile twitched at his mouth. "I'd like that very much." On the table next to Arthur was a Sharpie marker. He grabbed it and gave it to his boyfriend(?). Taking it, the Italian crouched in front of Arthur's broken limb. Which brought him dangerously close to a foreign crotch, and he averted his eyes before he was caught staring. Choosing a space on the outside of the thigh, he began to scribble.

When he pulled away, the Englishman craned his neck to read the upside down message.  
Get better soon, bastard.  
Lovino "Romano" Vargas  
A picture of a tomato leaning against a cup of tea sat next to the text, and the brightest grin Arthur could produce was directed at his (now positive) boyfriend. Wrapping his arms around his Italian's shoulders, he buried his nose into a soft, tan neck.

"Thank you."

"Whatever, bastard."

Minutes passed as they hugged, and they would have continued if Alice had not walked in with Arthur's crutches and medication. "Am I interrupting something?" she smirked, giving her son a mischievous wink.

"Artie's got a boyfriend!" sang Amelia, standing behind her sister.

Both boys blushed down to their necks and jumped away from each other. Alice stomped on Amelia's foot, taking pity on them. "Okay, sorry, sorry. But I can't help it. I get to be the embarrassing mum now," she snickered.

"Evil woman."

She shrugged. Pointing at Lovino, she asked nicely, "Would you like to come home with us, dear?"

Still heavily red, he managed to glance at Arthur and get out a "Yes, ma'am."

Arthur stared at him in shock, but undeniable happiness.

Taking up graffiti was the best thing to ever happen to him.

Fuck, he had Alfred to thank for this, didn't he?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Note time!
> 
> I don't know about you guys, but there really have been people up here that would steal delivered packages from other's porches to either sell, or re-gift for their own family. Yeah, I know.
> 
> And the lovely Nyotalia America and England make an appearance as the boy's mommys~.
> 
> Romania and Bulgaria also get a cameo~! Because I adore them. And then, you know, Cameroon is there like BAM! Moar Cameroon love, people! Yes, he's canon, so use hiiim! Haha.
> 
> Oh, and there actually is a video of that McDonalds rat in the buns thing. I may be American, but I refuse to eat that food unless it's forced upon me. I mean, ew, right?
> 
> SO! I'm definitely not done with this AU. There are a lot more scenes and flashbacks I want to do, but I have a new fic I want to work on, so for now it is complete. When I do write a new part, I'll upload it as a chapter to this story, 'kay?
> 
> Oh! And I have a Tumblr! It's Skadiyoko, just like here. Come and play with meeeeee~! *Belarus face*
> 
> I really do hope you all liked this, and thank you for reading and favoriteing and following and reviewing~! Each one gives me this warm, fuzzy bubbling happiness that lifts my spirits every time I see them.
> 
> I love you all, and shall see you next time!


	3. Revisiting the Past

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Alfred does something stupid, and it's up to Arthur to help him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Takes place months after the hospital stay. From here on out, chapters won't be as long.

Goddamn it.

Goddamn it.

Goddamn it!

Arthur was fuming. Comparing that word to how he actually felt at the moment was an understatement. Racing around his apartment, he grabbed his keys, threw a shirt that was crumpled in a corner over his torso, and yanked his boots on. Right as he locked his door a smell reached his nose. With a slew of curses the man hurriedly dashed back into the room to flick off a burner on his stove. Now that he was sure he would not burn down the entire building, Arthur ran to the parking lot.

Stupid stupid stupid! No, his cousin was not the sharpest tool in the shed, but damnit Arthur knows that he’s smarter than this! He had just received a call from the idiot. Alfred sounded panicked and so small over the loud static and music in the background. Explaining that he lied to his parents, the boy said had gone to a party. If it were only a party consisting of high schoolers pretending to be more mature than they really were, his stomach would not be doing somersaults. This was a party not unlike the ones Arthur himself had frequented only a few short years ago. Red clouded his vision, and he knew it was only there to cover up how outrageously worried he was.

Arthur only knew the name of the street since his cousin was unsure of the exact address. That was enough, though, and the Brit turned the ignition and flew out of the complex. He had tried to stay on the line with Alfred, but something happened and now his calls go straight to voicemail. Damnit, his stress levels could not be any higher than they were right then. Too many possibilities flashed across his mind of what could be happening to the boy, and it scared him.

Checking the clock, the man saw that it was almost a quarter until one. Not enough time for such a gathering to become uncontrollable, but definitely enough to put Alfred in danger. Now was a very bad time to get pulled over, but it was proving difficult to follow the speed limit. Because it was a Saturday night (or rather, Sunday morning), there were enough automobiles on the street to be time consuming. Quite a few were obviously being controlled by an intoxicated driver, but he could cut them off easily enough. 

As Arthur turned on to the destined street, he smartly parked right on the curb. It was obvious that something big was going on. Vehicles lined the street, and he could not find many places to park. There were even a few driveways being blocked by inconsiderate, lazy assholes. Emerging from his piece of shit car, the Englishman immediately began to stride up the sidewalk. It was easy enough to pick out the offending house. Whoever was in charge was not stupid, because there was a minimal amount of people mingling on the front deck. Though, the driveway was flooded, and commotion could easily be heard drifting from the back yard. Arthur made a beeline for the door.

With a confident gait, the blonde let himself in. Everything from those times came back to him, and it was all too easy to revert back into that old state of mind. Smoke and alcohol and sex lingered throughout the stale air. Arthur knew that his face was one of void indifference, and he knew it would stay that way until he could get out of this atmosphere. It felt like his mind was both calm, and being upturned by a whirlwind, and he needed to find Alfred and leave. The door shut behind him. 

Familiarity greeted him, but it was far from nostalgic. even though he had not been in such a scene for years, it was all exactly the same. Patches of people ranging from fifteen to forty crowded the interior of the house; some even recognized by the man, and he prayed that they did not remember him. They shouldn’t, and he did not want to raise any unnecessary attention by staring. Beer bottles and ugly red plastic cups littered almost every surface the eye could see. Quite a few patrons had cigarettes hanging from their mouths or fingers, and fuck Arthur’s insides cried for a drag. But no, he had quit months ago, and did not want to submit to the addiction again. Then there were others smoking or rolling blunts with yellowed fingers. Alfred was not in this area.

In the kitchen Arthur found a couple of boys in their late teens making a bong from a soda can. They were obviously under practiced. A group of girls clustered in a corner, tittering much too loud about who they wanted to take upstairs. Looking out the window, Arthur could see a game of beer pong taking place. Another part of the yard had housed a group doing jello shots off of topless women. Others were scattered about, but no Alfred. 

So he decided to find the stairs. Hoping to any deity who would listen that the boy was intelligent enough to stay away from the basement at all costs, Arthur ascended to the next level. Couples clotted that stairway, sucking and dry humping one another shamelessly. He paid them no mind and continued, trying to keep unwanted images from crawling to the front of his psyche. Even though the smoke was thinner up here, the undeniable scent of pheromones was heavy. Knowing not to open any of the doors, Arthur trekked around the floor. One room did not have the door shut, and the man knew that if he were his past self, he would have not thought twice about entering and joining their erotic play. The thought disgusted him.

A couple of rooms further, and he finally caught sight of the boy. Backed against a wall, Alfred was flanked by two girls who seemed as if they had barely hit puberty. They were unabashedly invading his personal space, thin hands touching and running over him. Brightly flushed, the tall blonde stuttered for them to stop. Arthur could tell he had been drinking, and was sure the large amount of fumes had somehow messed with his brain as well. Alfred wanted to push the girls away from him, but even in the haze he was in his chiviorusity remained in tact. Taking matters into his own hands, the Brit crossed the room and yanked the girls away. They fell to the carpet in inelegant heaps, but they wouldn’t remember come morning. No one stood to help them.

“Arthur!” gasped Alfred, relief shining through his anxious expression. 

Behind his bored facade, the man sent him his most harsh, scolding glare. Alfred flinched. Grasping the younger boy’s wrist, Arthur turned and dragged the other away. His cousin held his eyes on the floor, and the Englishman knew that he saw what was happening beyond that open door earlier. At the bottom of the staircase there was a cry of “Kirkland!” A man with dark hair and eyes could be seen weaving his way through the crowd towards them. Arthur knew this man, knew him both very well, and not at all. His name escaped the Brit, but it did not matter. Without another glance he continued to shuffle to the front door. Random strangers attempted to start conversation with the two blondes, but the man shrugged them off. Snobby words called after them, and it was laughable. Those words meant nothing. 

Outside gifted them with tranquility. Smokers lazily gazed after them as they went down the steps, but soon lost interest. Arthur was ecstatic to leave the premises; it was bringing back memories he buried a long time ago. Shoes clomped down the pavement, and a couple of cars swerved down the road before they made it to the corner. Releasing Alfred’s arm, he plopped in the car. The boy stood still for a second, then followed. With an unhealthy roar of the engine, the duo drove off.

“I’m-”

“Don’t,” he cut off. “Just shut up.”

Now that his cousin was safe, there was nothing to distract Arthur from his rage. It would not be good for him to talk right now. From past experience he knew that his mouth would run faster than his brain could keep up with, and that would not help anything. His focus also needed to be kept on the road, and screaming at Alfred would definitely be too distracting to be considered safe. So for the time being Alfred would have to suffer in silence, which was a suitable beginning to his punishment since the boy could not stand quiet. 

Driving home seemed to go a lot faster than leaving, and for that Arthur was grateful. Wordlessly, they entered his building and climbed to his floor. The man saw that he forgot to lock the door after shutting off his stove. Fantastic. From the corner of his eye he could see the other fidgeting. Pointing to the sofa, he left Alfred to sit while he left for his room. He needed to clear his head.

Slumping onto his bed, the Brit took a couple of needed breaths before pulling out his cell phone. Calling the police, he tipped them off about that party. Maybe he would save some unknown souls from throwing their lives away like he almost did. After the call he relaxed into his mattress. It was a crappy mattress that squeaked and sunk in spots, but buying a new one with his funds was impossible. Closing his eyes, Arthur let his mind drift. Lovino must be asleep by now. He always went to bed early, even if it was the weekend. Arthur, on the other hand, lived by a weird sleep schedule because of his graffiti. He would usually go to bed around three or four in the morning, and wake up at noon or one in the afternoon. Once he forgot about how normal people were deep asleep when he was just starting to get tired, and called his boyfriend. Apparently Lovino took his sleep very seriously. That night Arthur had learnt to let sleeping Italians lie. 

Thinking about his boyfriend had calmed the Englishman down significantly. He felt that he could now talk with his cousin without popping a blood vessel. With a sigh he rose from his bed and padded to where the other was. Alfred sat stiff as a board, and was staring straight across the room through Arthur’s balcony doors. A couple of the brighter stars marked the inky blue sky, and the moon was glowing behind thin sheets of clouds.

Perching on the coffee table, Arthur gave the other no choice but to face him. It was apparent how badly Alfred wanted to talk. It was eating away at the boy, and he figured it would be better to first hear what he had to say and base his lecture on that. “Explain.”

Blinking, Alfred startled from his thoughts. Nothing happened for a few seconds, and then he opened his mouth. “My friend said he was going to this party tonight, and asked if I wanted to come. I’ve never been to a big party before, and I really wanted to go, so... I did...” An impressive eyebrow raised, and Alfred’s posture told him how intimidating he must have looked. “But I didn’t know it would be like that! I swear! I thought it was going to be, like, a bunch of kids from school and stuff! I swear I wouldn’t have gone if I knew it was going to be so...” Again, he trailed off, not knowing what word to use. 

“Fucked up?” supplied Arthur. Alfred nodded slowly. “Why didn’t you turn right around when you saw what was happening? I’m a little less furious since you didn’t know what you were getting into, but once you saw you should have left!”

Shrinking under the Brit’s stern glare, he mumbled, “I know...” A breath. “But it wasn’t like that at first. It was just, like, a bunch of people my age drinking, but then more people came, and they started doing more stuff, and I just...” 

Inwardly sighing at the boys pitiful demeanor, Arthur took his hand. Alfred didn’t know the world he knew. How much a person could change while under the influence of alcohol or drugs. Sure, he’s seen plenty of his family drunk, and from tonight the man knew that he has experimented with liquor hisself, but never to such an extreme. Arthur never wanted him to experience that part of humanity. It hurt to know that he had.

Before he began to speak, he made sure the other was listening. Alfred did not need to be told off right now. His lesson had been learned. Once the younger’s full attention was on him, he began his story. “Back in high school, I frequented parties like that. Almost every weekend.” Blue eyes were wide, and light from the uncovered moon illuminated them to create an unearthly color. It was ethereal, and very sad. “I was exactly like those people. I drank until I couldn’t remember my name, and worked on my high the entire night. My voice never used to be so raspy,” he chuckled humorlessly. “It felt so good, like I was floating in a space where there was only nothingness. I had no problems, and all of the strangers surrounding me were suddenly my best friends. And God did I get philosophical... Then after a particular point my memories always got hazy, and I’d wake up the next day in some form of nudity feeling absolutely disgusting more times than not.” The hand in his flexed, and Arthur noticed he was gripping the other so hard that his knuckles were bone white. Loosening, he did not let go. “I hated it, Alfred. I really did. I hated myself, and hated how much I loved it. If you had not stopped me when you did,” a pause, “my life would be completely worthless.”

Sniffles filled the space, and shocked green met watery blue. “I’m sorry, Arthur. I was just-just so scared. I didn’t know what to do, and I ran upstairs ‘cause I thought there would be less people there, and someone spilled beer on my phone, and then no one would leave me alone-” Clasping a hand over Alfred’s trembling lips, the older man hushed. It was enough. 

Moving to sit next to his near panicked cousin, he cradled a blonde head and pulled him down. Shifting until they were comfortable, Arthur let Alfred rest on top of him as they tangled together. “This is so gay,” croaked Alfred, which the Brit responded with by holding him even tighter. The two lay like that for what seemed like hours. Occasionally a dampness would drip down Arthur’s neck, and he would run his fingers through the boy’s hair. It was greasy and dull from the night, and not very pleasant to touch. Actually, Alfred was quite filthy. Parts of his skin were sticky, and instead of his usual earthy odor, nothing but sweat and alcohol and smoke wafted from his form. 

Softly tugging Alfred’s locks, the man shifted. “You should take a shower,” you smell like my nightmares. He kindly left the usual snark out of his tone, for his cousin did not need that. 

A soft breath skimmed across his collar. “I’m tired... but I guess you’re right.” With a groan, Alfred lifted his body from the Brits. Listlessly stretching, he got off of the couch. 

Before he had a chance to move, Arthur spoke up, “I’m calling your mother.” Alfred froze. “I’m sorry, but this is something I refuse to keep between us. You have to understand that.” As the taller blonde turned, he was sure he was going to be faced with those damnable puppy dog eyes. Something stopped him from doing so, though.

Shame overpowered the boy’s expression, and it broke the Englishman’s heart. Leaning over, Alfred cupped Arthur’s cheeks and began to rub soothing circles into his flesh. “Okay, I understand, just... stop looking like that.”

For Alfred to do such a thing, his face must have truly been one of desperation. 

Continuing to massage Arthur’s face, the other stopped only when it was normal enough for his liking. After one last, long moonlit glance between them, the younger boy straightened and left for the bathroom. Arthur would have to dig around in his drawers for a set of spare clothes. Positive there was some of Alfred’s tucked away somewhere, he resigned himself to search for them. After he finds them, the man would have the pleasure of calling his aunt and explaining what had happened. At two-thirty in the morning. Fuck his life. 

And, because he loves Alfred so fucking much, he would argue with Amelia for who knows how long trying to get Alfred a less severe castigation. The boy may feel horrible, but he had better appreciate what Arthur was doing for him. It was going to be a long day, he inwardly groaned.

**Author's Note:**

> I'd like to explain the title and quote a little. There's a graffiti artist who goes by the name Above, and all across America he's thrown his signature arrows. They all point up, and he'll hang them (among other places) on overhead wires like shoes, a lot of the times he'll hang them from or next to the shoes, so all you can see is his bright, floating arrow reading "ABOVE". I think it's pretty inspirational.
> 
> And, of course, I used the Arte Stella cards for Arthur's name, Spade. the colors, too, if you noticed.
> 
> I've read that Netherlands has a pet rabbit, therefore I deduct he likes cute animals like that. He's also a very clean character, like Germany. And into lolita.
> 
> I did a little research, and Romano isn't just a type of cheese, but if used as a prefix, it means "related to Ancient Rome". Yes, really. I fangasmed a little when I read that. (Most of you probably already knew that though, didn't you?)
> 
> The Adventures of Alice in Wonderland is a pretty fucked up book, to be honest, and neither of the movies can compare to it.
> 
> Bicycling is taken VERY seriously in Denmark and the Netherlands. DON'T MESS WITH THEIR BIKES OR CYCLING LANES, YOU GUIZ!
> 
> Oh, hey, here's something. Take Romano, and replace the "R" and the "n" with "t"s. Kesesesese~!
> 
> Taken from a site with nothing but Italian curses:
> 
> Vaffanculo- Fuck off
> 
> che va in culo a sua madre- motherfucker
> 
> "Graffiti" also comes from the Italian word, "sgraffio". I thought that fitting for this fic. :)
> 
> Alright, sweethearts, This is the end of part one. I hope to see you all in part two~!
> 
> Ciao~!


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